Sick World that Damns its Saviors
by Raven Sinead
Summary: Death and resurrection. Endings and beginnings. For everything that falls, something rises to take its place. But what if exactly what falls is returned, with a different purpose? The world is changing and the sky is dark. Maker save us all. A continuation of my Dragon Age series. Featuring Leliana and Salem Cousland, as well as all OCs. Multiple character POV. Spans DA2 timeline.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ **I own nothing. All characters and settings belong to BioWare.**

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Hello all, and thanks for stopping by this continuation fic. I'll try to keep this author's note short, but as this is a continuation of a series, there are a few things to clarify. Thanks to a few canon clarifications courtesy of Dragon Age: Inquisition, there are a few canonical details that have/will be changed in my previous fics. Also, please note that all my canonical references are from the games, DLC, and the movie, Dawn of the Seeker. I have not read any of the books or comic books, therefore there is probably some information missing from my mental archives, but this is fanfiction, so I'm sure it's forgivable._

 _1\. The Divine who summons Leliana in **"Forward into Dark Eternity"** , and who Leliana speaks to in **"And Treat Our Blood as Gold"** and **"Lest Mortals Dare to Dream"** is and was the Divine Beatrix, I just was not aware of that until DA:I dropped. Also, it was Divine Beatrix, not Justinia, who recruited Kathyra to the Order of Seekers in **"Let Me Wake to Love Again"**. _

_2\. Kestrel (the mage/templar OC) did not come into the templar order due to the blood mage's attack on the Divine, which happened in the movie "Dawn of the Seeker" whose place in the timeline was questionable and therefore fair game until DA:I. Now, however, it's not, and so Kestrel has a new story. An apostate refugee from Ferelden, she's in Kirkwall when Meredith floods the streets with templars seeking apostates due to the mass incursion of refugees, Kestrel has to escape. She buys her way out of Kirkwall and flees to her distant family in Val Royeaux, where they threaten to turn her in to the templars. Realizing that, as a mage, she'll never be safe, she makes her decision to sneak into the templar order and hide there, in plain sight._

 _3\. In the last chapter of **"Lest Mortals Dare to Dream"** I brought Flemeth back as the Dread Wolf, not knowing, of course, who the Dread Wolf would actually be. So that particular revelation will be changed to reflect Flemeth's true identity, but only subtly, since Flemeth is an ancient elven deity. I got really close. But not enough._

 _4\. As for Cassandra's behavior in **"And Treat Our Blood as Gold"** and **"Lest Mortals Dare to Dream"** , I am going to keep her exactly as she was **in those stories** , because I don't have the time to revamp over 100,000 words. There's a ten year period between those stories and Cassandra as we see her in DA:I, a characterization I intend to remain faithful to. As to how that change in character came about, I'll leave that for the story to tell. _

_In any case, thank you for enduring this ridiculously long author's note, and now I will begin the story, which takes place after **"Lest Mortals Dare to Dream"** and will span Dragon Age 2 into the beginning of Inquisition, as seen through the eyes of Leliana, Salem, and several original characters. So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the story. _

_Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Salem Cousland**

 _My dearest Leliana,_

 _I have struggled with these words for so long. They linger in my chest like dead things…dead as I am…or perhaps was. I know that I should not be here. I know that my breath, if not stolen, is borrowed, and that my one, sole purpose is to cause you pain. That is a travesty I cannot endure. That is a crime I cannot commit._

 _However, these dead words linger, press, and ache. I must speak in some form or these dead words will corrupt my blood and mind until my purpose is fulfilled. So, let me speak them, here and now. In the quiet sanctity of this moment, let me believe that you are listening, and that you forgive._

 _I can see your reaction already, that precious crease between your elegant brows, the slight downturn of your heavenly lips, the questions that dance in your ocean eyes. You wonder what I might have done that merits forgiveness, as you did so often, long ago, when first we lived and breathed and loved. The one thing you think you might have to forgive is my death, but I have done much worse things than dying. I have lived a life that I was never meant to live. I know I am not making any sense, but I hope you will believe me when I say there is so very little sense to be made of this. Of all the tales I know, and all the ones that you told me through the nights, never did one speak of a resurrected warrior. Never did one allude to a god who would straddle the world of the living and the Veil, and reach into the world beyond to drag a mortal back into existence._

 _I remember what being happy was, Leliana. It was resting in your arms, listening to your voice…looking at you as you lay asleep. It was accepting my Calling and going to my death. A death that, for a second time, I was not allowed. But this letter's purpose is not to cry to you, or to bemoan the fate that is now mine. I have always attempted to accept my destiny, as I did during the Blight. No, this is not a letter of grief, but of knowledge._

 _I have been brought back to the world of the living by a force that seemed malevolent and mysterious from the first. Now, it is confirmed that Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, is something so much more than mortal. She had the ability to claw her way through life and into eternity and drag me away, once more, from my family. Away from my vigil…my wait for you. Not to sound morbid, my love, but yes, I did wait for you in the life after. No more do I wait. I live again._

 _I was sent back to Ferelden by Flemeth, to find Morrigan. I do not know why I was ordered on this mission…I do know that I attempted to flee, to hide from the gaze of the entity I did not wish to serve. But I was found, chastised, and sent back to my search. I went to the Korcari Wilds and…and along my journey, I saw how much my beloved Ferelden had changed._

 _In so many towns, I saw mages walking amongst the people, being spoken to without fear and treated as equals. Even those of the elvhen were treated as a true citizen of Ferelden. And, yes, while I saw templars there too, they were not overbearing to their charges. People speak well of Alistair, and while there will always be those who condemn the king, I bore no witness to public outcry against him as I journeyed._

 _He has…he has attempted to make the changes I asked of him at his coronation, and the Ferelden I have borne witness to is proof of his incorruptibility and his honor. I wished so much to see his face, to embrace him and see what has become of him through the years, but to do so would…would be to ruin him. I cannot break the king I wished to create, no matter how much I long for a friendly face who knows me as I would be known, not as a masked stranger with a rasping voice broken by years of disuse. Or perhaps my voice is broken because I speak so little. I speak less than I did when first we met._

 _It seems that I am to be consistently deprived of one sense or ability. Once, I could not see. Now, it is all I can do to articulate a word. But perhaps the time for those such as I to speak has come to an end. I do not feel that I walk in a world that I belong in. I feel this more strongly than ever I did before. Regardless, I am becoming distracted from the true purpose of this letter._

 _I did find Morrigan, in the Dragon Bone Wastes. She attacked me and those who had joined my search for her when we approached her. I did not allow my companions to attack, and removed the mask that I wear to conceal the scar left on my face by dragon's fire in the Frostback Mountains. When she looked upon the scar, I saw Morrigan, for the first time, exhibit something that resembled shock, perhaps even fear. And yet, I cannot deny that I felt some semblance of joy and profound relief at seeing her again, knowing that she_ _ **knew**_ _me…who I was. I lied to those who had insisted on joining me in my search for her. They never saw my full face, and rarely heard my voice. But Morrigan knew me. She knew me, and it did not take long for her to realize that I had been brought back from the other side of eternity. Do you remember my eyes, Leliana?_

 _They were scarred, broken, speaking of an intimacy with mortality that few have ever known or understood. They are still scarred but…but not so gently as once they were. They do not whisper of knowing death, now. They_ _ **scream**_ _of intimacy with it. To look at my own reflection is to gaze into the face and eyes of the damned. I am very much changed…even changed beneath the skin, where none can see. But my heart has not altered. My mind has not altered. I still love you…I have loved you from the moment I opened these damned eyes and once again looked at the waking world._

 _And yet…this is not a letter of love._

 _Morrigan told me what I believe is the truth of the world, that it is_ _ **Flemeth**_ _who is the true danger in Thedas. I have no doubts that she gave to me the truth, but I was able to ask nothing else of her before she faded into the strange mirror that stood alone in a cave in the center of the wastes. I do not know, as of yet, if I have made a grave mistake but I…I did what I have always done, and sought the answer. I followed Morrigan and stepped into the mirror._


	2. Chapter 2

**Kathyra**

Time had its way of creeping by, slow, like blood through the veins of a hypothermic patient. It had been but a fortnight, but even that seemed too long. I had seen my world altered in the course of a single minute, a simple action, and the fewest of words. If change could move so swift, it did not seem fair that this change take my beloved from me for so long. I knew better than to be a hot-blooded, lovelorn fool, but that did not stop me from missing the one who held the confidences of my heart. It did not stop me from busying myself to distract me from her absence.

I continued my sketching on the rough parchment, compiling a guide for healers, per Leliana's suggestion, including images of the anatomy of humans, elves, and dwarves, the three races to whom I had ministered. Such volumes existed in Thedas, but they were exceedingly difficult to find, and most often were owned by the very wealthy, who often struggled to relinquish such valuable items, regardless of the importance of the knowledge. I continued my sketch of the human heart, my fingertips trembling as I remembered holding one in my hand not so long ago, attempting to massage life back into it…failing.

 _Another mage lost…_ I frowned, setting aside my charcoal and lifting a glass of wine to my lips. _Another Harrowing "gone wrong". It seems that many Harrowings go wrong in the Gallows of Kirkwall. Thank the Maker that Kestrel has a messenger bird, and that she found a way for us to enter without being seen. We have saved the lives of five good men and women thus far, but it seems it is not enough._

My frown deepened and I set the wine aside. I had met Knight Commander Meredith once, in a life lived before. Even as a knight-lieutenant, she had been an intractable fanatic. It seemed the greater power and higher rank had not curbed her initiative, but speeded and strengthened. We did what we could to save the innocents ravaged by the grip of her iron gauntlet, but it seemed as though we could not do enough. Kirkwall was a body, and the rogue mages going to extreme lengths for freedom and the templars led by a madwoman were bleeding her dry.

When we had come here under orders from Divine Beatrix, to keep an eye on the unrest, and to place two agents in the Gallows itself, we had not known the depths of horror that we would witness. We bought a clinic in Lowtown. It had functioned as such earlier on, but those who owned it had been overcome by avarice, taking advantage of the refugees until the under-dwellers of the city turned against the proprietors, slaughtering them. The building had been repossessed by the city on the viscount's orders, and Leliana had purchased it.

The injured and ill of Kirkwall would come to us, their lips often loosened by panic, fear, and pain, and we discovered a great deal of information through that avenue. I was grateful that I remained able to ply my trade as a physician, to heal the sick and succor the injured. Even years removed, I had a debt to repay to my beloved Giselle…a debt that pressed more heavily on me because I had permitted my heart to heal and allowed myself to take another lover.

 _A lover that has been gone these two weeks. I sorely miss her, though I know that she was ordered to return to Val Royeaux alone. For what purpose, I cannot say. All I know is that I am worried about how this mission might continue under the leadership of the New Divine. Justinia V, once known as Revered Mother Dorothea._

I reached for the wine again, attempting to quell the bitterness rising in my chest and tightening around my throat. I had lost many things to Mother Dorothea. She had not always been a woman of wisdom, supreme kindness, and empathy. She had changed her life, seeking redemption and forgiveness, but there had been a time when…there had been a time.

 _That time is over now,_ I finished my remaining wine and filled the goblet again, returning to my charcoal and my sketch. _It is long past time to forgive. Old wounds will always ache, but they need never be torn open, for then infection can set in, and kill._

I heaved a sigh as I continued to shade the powerful muscles of the heart, remembering with bittersweet fondness the times I had pored over sketches such as these, Giselle standing over my shoulder and asking me questions in her gentle, sunrise voice. My half-elven physician still held my soul, but another held my heart in the waking world. My Leliana. The woman that my sister had almost killed, placed in prison, and subjected to horrific torture for fourteen days. The woman who had staggered into the Chantry clinic, begging for sanctuary and her life. The woman I had stitched together and abandoned. Then, I had been too afraid to face aiding another because my own heart had been ripped to shreds.

Leliana knew all of that, now. It had taken me a great deal of time to gather the courage to tell her the litany of my failures and crimes against her. She had continued to be an unceasing source of awe and wonderment. Without a word she had taken me into her arms, pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, and thanked me for the life I had given her. I did not know how she could thank me for such a thing, for, in my mind, she had endured more horrors since leaving the life of a bard than she knew while in that life. However, I could not know the innermost depths of her soul, because it did not belong to me.

 _Her warden carries the other half of her soul in the land of the dead, as Giselle carries mine. But our hearts we have given to each other, to protect and to cherish, to remind ourselves that passion is something that exists in spite of pain and the tragedies that have stolen a half of a soul from the both of us._

A somber smile quirked my lips and I bent over the table, continuing to outline and map the heart with charcoal on parchment. A slow ache built in my neck, and my wrist began to burn from the arduous task of precision drawing. Absorbed in my task, I barely noticed when the wooden bench beneath me creaked and strong, gentle arms wrapped around my waist. I felt the softness of hair on my shoulder and caught a glimpse of fiery tresses in my peripheral vision before the scent of salt air and Andraste's Grace washed over me.

I dropped the charcoal and turned, taking Leliana in a fierce embrace. I held her tight for a long moment, my hands roving over her back, feeling the tension in her muscles and the delicate power of her body. I buried my forehead between her neck and shoulder, listening to her breathing, my lips tasting the salt on her pale, perfect skin. We remained like this for quite some time, and I could feel a change in her. I could feel that her return from Val Royeaux brought with it news, and not simply the news of a new Divine, but of something that would, perhaps, change the world.

I pulled out of the embrace and, before she could speak, captured her lips in a gentle kiss. Her skin was chapped from the sea travel, but it tasted as sweet to me as honey on the comb. A soft, contented sigh left her lips and my body pulsed in response to the gentle sound. Her lips parted the slightest bit, allowing my tongue entrance to her mouth, and we enjoyed the intimate duel and dance for as long as she allowed. I knew that, in spite of my happiness and relief at her return, nothing would pass between us this night but slumber in each other's arms. Perhaps not even that, depending on the change that had been wrought.

Our kiss ended and I pulled away, tucking her tousled hair behind her ears, cupping her cheeks between my hands, smiling into her tired, sea-blue eyes. We would both need to rest, and soon, but first there were things she needed to tell me. We had no secrets between us, and could read the other with ease, establishing a trust that many who loved struggled for years to attain.

"Welcome back, my love." I breathed, not welcoming her 'home', just as she never welcomed me home. We both knew that our homes rested nowhere in Thedas. They lay in the land of the dead, with the other halves of our souls. "What has changed?"

The smile that spread across her features made my heart race, but I could see the apprehension behind it and knew that her smile was for me, not because of what had transpired.

"Justinia, once Dorothea, now sits on the Sunburst Throne." Leliana informed me of what I had already known, what every Seeker and templar had already known. "And the Left Hand of Divine Beatrix was tried, sentenced, and executed for embezzlement of the Chantry coffers, and of using the Chantry to launder gold gained by illegal lyrium trafficking."

My brow creased in confusion. "This was on Dorothea's orders, I presume?" I asked, for I did not believe that I could ever think of Dorothea as the Divine, nor call her "Most Holy", for the word holy meant "set apart" and I knew too much of Dorothea's indulgences and human foibles, even if they were in the past, to accord her such a title.

Leliana shook her head in the negative, surprising me. "No. The order came from Lord Seeker Lucius, who had been investigating the Left Hand without Beatrix's knowledge or approval. However, he had substantial evidence and announced it tactlessly before Most Holy and the Nine. Justinia is scrambling to mitigate the scandal."

"Even the highest echelon of power needs its own checks and balances." I agreed. "The Divine herself must confer with the Nine in times of controversy."

Leliana nodded, though I spoke things we both already knew. "I am afraid that Justinia did not confer with the Nine on the decision that followed, for many of them were not well pleased."

"Oh?" I asked, sitting up straighter, intrigued by the edge of…fear?...in my lover's tone. "What has happened, Leliana?"

"Most Holy has already chosen her left and right hands." Leliana's tone lowered, and it was not exhaustion that darkened her voice, but trepidation.

"That is…highly unusual." I said when it became clear that she struggled to continue. "Many of them wait years, vetting people for those positions, until explicit trust exists between them and the ones they choose."

Leliana nodded. "I know." she replied. "Which is why many were not pleased. Justinia requested that Cassandra Pentaghast remain as the Right Hand."

"A sensible choice." I attempted to suss out why Leliana had become so reluctant to speak, and I thought perhaps it might be that Cassandra had retained her position, even though she served a new, and very different, Divine.

Leliana and Cassandra had not met under good circumstances, nor had their relationship flourished by any means. Cassandra was proud, intractable, imperious, and hot-tempered. She was used to others following her orders without question, and Leliana had never been the sort to take such a thing lying down. They had come to blows many times over the last few years, though their altercations had become much fewer and farther between. I knew Cassandra well; I could tell that the woman had gentled. She had become slower to anger, more willing to listen, and she had begun to subjugate her pride and mitigate her impetuous nature.

Cassandra had made great strides and I applauded the change of heart that I had witnessed in her the few times we had seen each other since Divine Beatrix had appointed myself, Leliana, Kestrel Ariyah, and Rylie Camerloch as a shadow squad to investigate the stirrings of unrest in Kirkwall. However, the Nevarran's temper still burned volcano hot and, at times, she still seemed willing to sacrifice lives and let means justify ends. However, there was no woman more loyal and dedicated to the Chantry and her Order than Cassandra Pentaghast. If Dorothea wanted a true and faithful heart as her right hand, she had made the best decision.

"I agree." Leliana nodded. "But I am not so certain of her second appointment." She paused, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Kathyra, my darling, I have been named the Left Hand of Divine Justinia."

My lips parted but they had no speech, and gooseflesh rose on my arms as all the blood drained from my face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Leliana**

I watched Kathyra's face pale, as I had known it would when I told her what had transpired. As much as I wanted to restore color to her cheeks and light to her viridian gaze, I could not unspeak the words I had given her. I could not undo the vows that I had taken before Divine Justinia. To be her Left Hand, to serve immediately before the Sunburst throne. I did not know much of what would be expected of me, but it was an immense sacrifice, I knew. Kathyra knew. She would say that I had sacrificed too much by accepting, but I had learned, long ago, from a powerful heart and strong, loving arms, that no sacrifice was _too much,_ if it were a sacrifice made in love.

"You accepted." Kathyra said, once again a statement, not a question, because she knew me so well.

"I owe Dorothea my life." I spread my hands before my lover, knowing that her initial hurt and shock would pass, and that she would accept this. "Everything that I have been given, every good thing that has transpired in my life, came about because of her kindness and her wisdom. I know that…"

"That woman is a viper." Kathyra interrupted, running her hands through her ash-blonde hair, leaving sooty streaks of charcoal. "She changed because of what happened to you, because of what you had to endure, due to her mistakes. I knew her before that change, Leliana. I know the woman she is at the core of her character. She plays the Game, and _well_. I am afraid that you will be used; that you will be _hurt_."

"Of course I will be hurt." I countered, having known that for truth the moment I met Justinia's weathered blue eyes, the moment that she took me into her embrace before walking before the assembled powers of Thedas to become the Maker's voice on earth. "But I owe her my life."

Kathyra frowned. "I respect your choice, Leliana, and I know that you will honor the oaths you have made, because you can do nothing else. It is your name and your honor and I will do my utmost to help you uphold that, but I will not deny that I am worried for you. Does she know…does she know the truth of who you are?"

A wash of awareness broke through my exhaustion as Kathyra broached a subject we did not often discuss. Though the both of us knew the truth, it was not something we spoke of, so that we might distance ourselves from the fear of the future, the terror of the unknown, and the knowledge that the world was changing and that I stood at its epicenter. I had stood in the presence of the Maker and heard her plans for the world. I had listened to her speak of the great love she bore for Thedas, of the failure of Andraste to understand the truth of a love divine and without condition.

 _If I were to tell the world the truth, that the Maker turned her gaze from us because_ _ **Andraste**_ _failed, not us, the Chantry would lose its power, the mages would riot, and chaos would ensue. There are some secrets that need still to be kept._

"Dorothea does not know of the visions from my lips." I told Kathyra. "But that does not mean that she does not have this knowledge from another source. Cassandra might have informed her, or someone else who knew me from long ago."

"Do you believe that anyone from the warden's party would inform Justinia in order to gain favor from the Sunburst throne?" Kathyra inquired, piercing to the heart of the matter as she often did.

"Alistair would never." I said, staunch in my belief of him. He was a good man and had been a just king these many years. "Nor would Zevran. Wynne would never reveal that secret, even if she still lived. The sole person who might ever speak of it is Morrigan, and she would want nothing to do with the Chantry."

Kathyra nodded, trusting my word, though she had never met those I had known and traveled with during the Blight. I lowered my head, feigning exhaustion, in truth it was to keep Kathyra from seeing the truth I could not disguise, the knowledge that…

"You've had another vision." Kathyra moved closer, reaching out her hand, taking mine and holding it fast. I remained steadfast in my avoidance of her gaze, but I knew that I would tell her. I told her everything. I trusted her. I loved her.

After a long moment, I looked into her deep green eyes, remembering when I gazed into eyes of another color, a silver-blue scarred by pain and by looking into the realm beyond life too many times. The signet ring that I wore against my breast burned with the memory, with the disquiet sense I had held for some time that _something_ had happened. Something concerning the lover that I had left in the land of the dead, who had promised to wait for me.

 _Salem, do you hear me? Are you somehow watching me from beyond the Veil? You come to me in dreams and I feel your scarred hands upon my skin and your lips speak prophecies and proclamations of love and I fall beneath your touch. Your ring burns and pulses against my skin like a living thing and it terrifies me, for I know you perished. You gave your life to your Calling._

"I have." I answered my lover in the waking world, the woman who protected a decimated heart. "I witnessed a dark heart, fissured through with altruism turned to desperation. The heart began to crack beneath the earth and it ruptured outwards, screaming upward into the heavens, piercing the sky…piercing heaven itself."

I shuddered at the memory of the vision, of the pain that had ripped through my skull and crashed me to my knees as the images assaulted me. There had been more visions, and even though I had spoken with the Maker, even though I had stood face to face with a god, they were no easier to bear than first they had been.

Kathyra's features softened with the great compassion that defined her character, that had colored her life and made her the woman I found myself able to love. She rose from her seat and before I knew it, she had seated herself behind me, drawing me into her arms and cradling my head against her shoulder. Her lips pressed gentle kisses against my temple.

"We shall endure our lives as they change, and neither anticipate nor dread those changes." she whispered as she combed her fingers through my hair in a soothing motion. "I know that you have lived a life of secrets before, Leliana, but becoming the Left Hand is very different. Do you understand these differences?"

I shook my head, admitting my lack of knowledge. Much was known of Cassandra Pentaghast, the Hero of Orlais, the Savior of Val Royeaux, and, now, the Right Hand of two Divines-an unheard of honor. But the Left Hand had been a man whose name I did not know, whose face I had never seen nor heard described in all my travels. I watched him die, beheaded before the Divine and the Nine, and I felt nothing.

"I can admit my ignorance." I whispered, comforted by the touch of her capable, life-saving hands, such a different touch from the warrior who had stolen my heart out from the darkness.

"Your life is no longer your own, Leliana." Kathyra whispered, and her voice rang low, like a death knell keening in the black of night. "You belong to the Chantry, but even more than the Chantry, you belong to Justinia the Fifth. The Divine is called Most Holy for a reason. She is not able to do anything surreptitious, anything hidden, anything that does not benefit and befit her station. The purpose of the Right Hand is to show the might of the Chantry, the champion of Thedas, the wisdom of the Divine in the body of a powerful warrior. The Left Hand is the bloody hand: the hand that murders, the soul that enacts and creates the darkness that those, lesser in stature in this world, cannot know resides in the mind of the Most Holy. You will be a bard again, Leliana. Not a Seeker, not a spy, but a player of the Game once more. Do you understand what I am saying?"

I turned to look into Kathyra's eyes, wondering at the great pain I saw in them. "Say it to me without gentleness, Kathyra." I told her, forgiving her for the way in which she knew she would hurt me.

Kathyra sighed and gathered her courage. "You have chosen to undo everything that your love for Salem allowed you to become." she spoke, and the truth inside her words became a dagger that slipped between my ribs and sank into my heart. "You are going to fade into the dark again, and you are going to do it for the Maker's cause and to bring peace to the world. But a life in the light is something you will no longer be able to have, or find again."

She spoke the words that had been whispering in my heart and in my mind as I returned to Kirkwall, to my lover and to the mission Beatrix began that Justinia urged me to continue. However, it was one thing to speak such words to myself, and another to hear them from my lover's lips. I met her verdant eyes, remembering that, once, I had loved her sister. I had lived with these same eyes in the darkness that would swallow me again...because I had allowed it entrance and ability to do so.

 _But I had no choice. I owe Dorothea my life. She helped me get well again. She sent me to Ferelden for my safety, and lied to the chevaliers when they came searching for me. I will be her left hand, for once, she entered the darkness for my sake._

"I know." I breathed, and a slight grin pulled upwards at Kathyra's lips.

"Then I desire you to know that I will love you through and despite whatever it is you must do next." Kathyra promised, and she had never before broken her word to me. "Now, the moon has risen, the night is old, and you should rest. Go on to bed; I will join you in a moment."

"As you say." I offered her a tired smile, got to my feet, and trudged up the stairs to the small apartment above the clinic where we resided, but did not call home.

I set my satchel down on the floor, walked to the bed, and sat down. For a long moment, I stared through the window, looking out onto the moon, thinking of all the important moments of my life that it had witnessed. This would be but one more. Kathyra's words resonated with me, for they told me the truth that I had known from the moment I swore my vows. I would return to the Game. I would return to the shadows that had given me birth. And in my life…in my life there was one thing that had always and ever been untouched by the darkness.

I reached up and removed my necklace, taking the ring it held and holding it up to the moonlight. I fell into the engraved image of the rampant mabari, the sigil of House Cousland. The sigil of honor, loyalty, and peace. I had given my oath to Divine Justinia. I had given my oath to forego honor in place of success, to become unrest in order to bring about the Maker's will. I had sworn my loyalty to another.

"I do not know why your ring burns against my breast." I spoke to Salem, as I had many times since her death. "But I do know that I have made another oath, and that I will honor it, for I am a Cousland still, and my word is my bond, the one thing I possess that is of any value. However, my love, for the sake of the light, I am going to the darkness. If you are watching, I pray that you forgive me."

A wooden box lay on the windowsill. It held the retired tools of my trade, the garrote that had become brittle, the dwarven craft false blade that had brought down Bann Esmerelle in Amaranthine. It held the poisons that had been stored so long they were no longer effective and the dagger with which I had made my first kill in the dark. I lifted the key that lay beside the box and unlocked it, lifting the top, tracing the outlines of its contents and feeling a great burden come to rest in my heart.

I lifted the signet ring, my marriage ring, to my lips. I kissed the cold metal, remembering the taste of Salem's lips, metal and sweat, copper and salt. I closed my eyes and bowed my head over the ring, accepting the new oath I had made. It took all of my strength to place the ring in the box, but I did. Then, I closed the lid, inserted the key, and locked the ring away with the rest of my past.

 _Rest well, Salem. My soul is yours still, but this life is mine, and I must live it. I must return to the dark, and I cannot carry your light there with me. If you can see this, please know that I love you no less, that I honor you no less, and that you are still my encompassing dream and my peace._

"Maker, forgive me." I whispered a prayer. "Forgive me and guide me now."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**_ _I just wanted to thank and give credit to my friend and fellow author_ _ **Drummerchick7**_ _. She allowed me to use her headcanon for the punishment of apostate mages (see her fic "_ _ **Forbidden Magic**_ _"), and incorporate it into my own story. I darkened it up a little bit for Kirkwall, but wanted to give her credit for the original idea. Thanks, DC7!_

* * *

 **Rylie Camerloch**

My scar ached like fury. That never boded well. I stood on the walls of the Gallows, looking out to the sky. The deep black had lightened. The sun would rise in two candlemarks or so. I did not know why, but, for some reason, disquiet filled my heart. The gentle wind had a bladed edge to it, carrying whispers, carrying a smell like the sea, but also metallic. I knew that smell. It was blood.

 _Only in Kirkwall can the wind smell like blood, because so much has been shed here._ I frowned, looking down at the churning waters. I didn't want to look back at the towers, or think of the mages locked inside their rooms, unable to move until the sun rose. I didn't want to think about the fact that Knight Commander Meredith had issued an order that no one in the city knew about.

 _From sunrise to sunset, any mage seen without written permission and a templar escort is to be killed on sight...even in the Gallows._

I frowned and began to worry, absently rubbing the scar that ran from my hipbone to my shoulder, between my breasts. The wound had almost killed me, years ago, when an abomination had lashed out at me with an eviscerating magic. If it hadn't been for Leliana and Kestrel, I would have died. I was still alive, but the wound hadn't healed well, because of the magic that made it. I had learned to trust that, when it ached and burned, something dark loomed on the horizon.

The first time it had happened was when I reported to the Gallows, with Kestrel as my prisoner, a falsehood to begin my ingratiation with Knight Commander Meredith. I hadn't known what they would do to her…I still asked for her forgiveness, even though Kestrel insisted I wasn't at fault. I still felt to blame, because I hadn't stopped them.

I hadn't stopped them from wrenching her out of my grasp and cutting her clothes from her body, leaving her naked. I hadn't stopped them from holding her down and taking a straight razor to her beautiful, thick, black hair. They had shaved it down to her scalp, and she didn't make a sound. She didn't make a sound when they ordered _me_ to hold her down. Then, with my hands keeping her prisoner, they marked her forever as an escaped apostate. They tattooed her face with red ink, the color used by the Kirkwall circle. They'd shoved the needles around her eyes and eyebrows, creating a delicate, unique design…but they hadn't stopped there. They had tattooed her chin, piercing her lips with the needles simply to cause pain. They even marked the delicate line of her throat with ink. It was torture, but she did not cry out. She did not even whimper.

After that, they'd taken her, naked, to the Harrowing chamber and forced her into the Fade to confront a demon. They had no way of knowing that she had never been in a circle, that she had known a year's tutelage in magic from another apostate mage. They also had no knowledge that she had been a templar, that she could both use magic and the skills given to us by the lyrium we drank and the techniques we were taught. She had defeated the demon, but when she came out of the Fade she was…she was not well. She burned with fever, struggled to breathe; her nose would not stop bleeding and then she began to cough up blood.

I continued rubbing my aching chest, remembering that night. I had run through the streets of Kirkwall to the clinic. I had all but broken down the door, screaming for Kathyra and Leliana. They stole into the Gallows, unseen by anyone, reminding me of and making me grateful for their bardic pasts. Kathyra had saved Kestrel's life, helped her breathe again, stopped the bleeding, and broken the fever. She had told me something that made me burn with wrath; that made me want to tear out Meredith's throat with my own hands.

The ink that they had forced into her skin also contained acid and venom, meant to burn through the deep layers of skin, enter the blood, and kill. They had forced Kestrel into a Harrowing after poisoning her. She was supposed to die in such a way that no one would suspect the templars or their Knight Commander. The Kirkwall Circle did not simply mark apostates, they attempted to kill them. Kestrel and I did what we could to save them, but we were not always successful. More often than not, Meredith's kill order won the day, and innocent mages died because they dreamed of being free.

I wanted no part in it but I had to play one. In secret, I compiled a list of Meredith's orders, and kept the names of the templars who went too far. There were so many of them here. I did not know what had made them into sadists, fond of torture, prone to entrapping mages simply to punish them, but there were many, men and women both. And those that were good, that _could_ be trusted, seemed to be willfully ignorant and unwilling to report the atrocities that happened within the walls of the Gallows.

I'd been an idealist when I joined the Order. I had wanted to protect the weak and champion the just and all the other shit they had shoved down our throats in training. I had thought it was real, was truth, was established. But, like so many things, it was a beautiful veneer and the years in Kirkwall, watching the woman I loved suffer because she had been born with a gift in her blood, had tarnished it. I no longer believed that the Order fought for the tenets they taught us. But _I_ did.

I'd risked my life fighting for the mages, healing the apostates who were brought in, branded, and poisoned. Kestrel did the same, and had gained many allies and friends. She worked closely and shared quarters with Bethany Hawke, whose sister Micah had taken Kirkwall by storm, and become a near legend in her own right. Bethany was the sole mage that knew of the love affair between a mage and a templar. A love that had begun long before Kirkwall, and continued in spite of the fact that we were barely allowed to speak to each other…that I had not been able to touch her in _months_.

 _I miss you_ …I thought, breathing deep, attempting to console myself. Instead of the scent of salt and blood on the wind, I smelled smoke. I looked across the canal that divided the Gallows from the city proper and frowned as I saw smoke rising and the flickers of orange and red. The docks of Kirkwall were burning.

"Wake the mages!" I looked from the wall down into the courtyard, where Knight Captain Cullen stood, outfitted in full armor, his sword drawn. "Form squads! Five templars, three mages, into the city! The qunari are attacking!"

I started running, stumbling down the stairs and into the courtyard, the scar across my chest burning like fire. For patrol, I wore nothing but a hardened leather cuirass and the tabard emblazoned with the flaming sword of the Order. My scabbard struck my thigh as I ran to the armory.

"Sergeant Camerloch!" Knight-Captain Cullen called and I stopped, turning towards him. "There's a squad already formed and down by the boats. They require a fifth templar. That is you. Go!"

I bit my lip but changed direction. I had wanted to find Kestrel, to make sure that we would be together in the chaos. The qunari had done nothing in Kirkwall but refuse to leave for years. Now they were attacking? Something must have happened, but I did not have that information. As usual, for the templars of Kirkwall, we were told to kill, and given no reason as to why.


	5. Chapter 5

**Leliana**

The streets seemed as though they were all on fire. The cloying stench of smoke filled the air, and chaos ruled. Kathyra and I ran through the grey haze of sunrise, armed to the teeth, our faces splattered with the blood of our enemies. There were so many questions here, and they did not have answers. The qunari had left the city very much alone, doing nothing more inflammatory than harboring those who had gone to them and chosen to follow the Qun.

 _However, if I am not mistaken,_ I lifted my bow, the weapon that had been carried by Eleanor Cousland, a weapon that only one bearing the Cousland name could wield, and nocked an arrow. I pulled back on the string and let the arrow fly, taking a qunari warrior in the throat before his blade crashed down on the woman he had pursued. _The viscount's son, Seamus, converted to the Qun. Kathyra's last report told me that she overheard in the Hanged Man that Seamus was murdered not long ago. Varric and Isabela were speaking of it…Micah Hawke found his body and was framed for his murder by that sniveling harpy Mother Petrice._

A hand landed on my shoulder, yanking me backwards as a burning beam fell from above and crashed into the street. I landed hard on the ground, scrabbling backwards as a wave of heat washed over me. I looked up to see Kathyra bent double, catching her breath. We had perhaps slept for two candlemarks when the scent of smoke roused us and the horns of the City Guard began to blow a warning. Without thought, we had donned armor and weapons, Kathyra carrying her physician's pack as well as her sword.

Already the streets were stained with blood. The qunari had not simply attacked those guilty of doing wrong. They appeared to be fighting a holy war, bent on extinguishing the iniquities of the troubled city of Kirkwall. I had seen no sign of Micah Hawke and her usual compatriots, but Kathyra and I had already seen several squads of templars and mages fighting against the qunari. I sent prayers to the Maker for the safety of Kestrel and Rylie. Save for those who might have chanced across the Tal Vashoth on the Wounded Coast, those like Micah Hawke and Guard Captain Aveline, there were no warriors here who had fought against the qunari.

 _They have superior strength, but, in spite of their size and the balance required to compensate for the weight of their horns, they are remarkably dexterous. The large swords carried by the Sten are deceitful. One will think they have time to calculate their opponent's strike, and be dead before they can dodge._

Even Zevran and I had been defeated several times when we sparred with Sten during the Blight. In spite of the fact that only Alistair, Salem, and Oghren could even _lift_ Asala, Sten could wield the massive blade with as much ease and dexterity as I wielded my daggers. The Antivan Crow and I moved fast and read our enemy's body language, but even we had trouble predicting Sten's attacks. These qunari had been all but imprisoned here in Kirkwall. Now they were allowed to unleash their anger with their incredible skill to supplement it.

"Over here!" a man shouted, his voice carrying over the clash of weapons and the screams of the fearful. "We need help! Please! Can anyone hear me!?

I turned to Kathyra. There were two places that we needed to be, two entities in this city that required our protection. The qunari would wage their war on two fronts. They would attack the Chantry, who defied their Qun, and they would attack the viscount, who's law upheld the Chantry. But I saw the urgency in my physician's eyes, and realized that she could not be as ruthless in her priorities as I. That her compassion would rule her, even in the midst of battle.

 _But I will not leave her unprotected, so I will not argue. Time is of the essence._

I nodded to my lover and we ran through the alley, towards the man who had not stopped bellowing for help. He was clad in the armor of the city guard, sword drawn, held in a shaking hand as he protected the body of his fallen comrade. Kathyra slung her physician's pack off of her back and knelt beside the fallen man…a man I recognized. Guardsman Donnic, the man betrothed to Kirkwall's Guard Captain Aveline Vallen.

Another city guardsman knelt beside Kathyra and my physician began to murmur orders as she opened her pack.

"What happened here?" I asked the standing guardsmen, leaving Kathyra to the work she did best. The saving of lives.

"Captain Vallen and the Hawke went to talk to the Arishok." the man spoke, his voice hard but his eyes afraid. "Known murderers had taken refuge with the horned monsters. Said they converted." the man spat on the ground. "Vallen wanted them back, for trial, for punishment, for _justice_. The Arishok wouldn't give them up."

"Aveline…" Donnic rasped. "…did not…take it so well."

"Don't speak." Kathyra murmured as she applied a poultice to the horrific gash leading from Donnic's neck, across his shoulder, and down his arm. The skin gaped open and I could see the edges of torn muscle. She looked to the man helping her. "Give him some water, if you have any. He's lost too much blood."

"Words were exchanged, then the qunari started throwing spears." the guardsman informed me. "Then they moved into the city, killing everyone they saw."

"Maker's blood-soaked breath." I hissed.

The situation was worse than I thought, exacerbated by the murder of Seamus, a qunari convert, and now a disagreement with the city guard. I wished that I could speak to Micah Hawke. I had known her when I lived in Lothering. She had been the breadwinner for her family, doing anything that she could, most often hard manual labor in the fields, until she and her brother joined King Cailan's army. They had fled after the massacre in Ostagar and the family had made a name for itself in Kirkwall.

I knew that Micah would be in the thick of this, for while we influenced Kirkwall from the shadows, she led it from the front. And it sorely needed a leader now. If the qunari were to be vanquished, there were three people who could take Kirkwall back. The viscount, should he live, Micah Hawke…and Knight Commander Meredith.

 _No!_ Even the thought of the woman repulsed me. _That woman is a murderer dressed in the clothing of the righteous. If she comes into yet more power, then Kirkwall…Kirkwall is doomed._

"Leliana, they're coming!" Kathyra's voice shattered my thoughts and I looked up as eight qunari flooded into the alley where we had taken refuge. The formation changed when they saw us, four remaining back, nocking arrows against their bows. Four rushed at us.

"Kathyra, your weapon!" I screamed over the battle cry of the qunari.

My physician's eyes flared, green and fiery. "If I leave him now, he'll _die_."

For most, that would not be an answer, but I knew Kathyra very well. She would not abandon her patient, not even to ensure her own life. She was trusting me to protect her, and I would honor that trust. Inasmuch as we _needed_ to be elsewhere, inasmuch as the lives we defended might be considered less valuable than our own…this was who we were. For Kathyra, this sacrifice was natural. For me…I had learned it from the best of teachers.

The qunari were almost upon us, the two guardsman in Donnic's squad stood at the ready. We were outnumbered and outmatched, but we would fight to the death. I threw my bow and quiver beside Kathyra and drew my daggers. I would rush them and get inside their guard, where their huge swords were of no use.

"On my command." I ordered the two guardsmen, whispering a prayer for strength. I gained my balance, established my center, and gripped my weapons tight. "Attack!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Kathyra**

I worked as though in a dream state, everything smooth, everything streamlined. My hands did not shake and my heart did not waver as I worked to save the life of a good, honest man. Donnic leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on my face, not my hands, a show of trust that kept me centered and sane while a skirmish raged behind me. I continued wrapping herbs into bandages, goldenrod, comfrey, shepherd's purse, and cayenne. I placed the poultices into his wounds; controlling the bleeding was the most important thing.

He needed to have the wound stitched, but we did not have the time, nor were we in the right place. Kirkwall was a filthy city even when clean; I could not in good conscience stitch the wounds, knowing that it would seal irritants beneath the skin and cause an infection. I pressed the final poultice into the gash, admiring Guardsman Donnic's inner strength. His eyes were filled with pain, but he did not allow it to rule him. I had seen that look in a soldier's eyes before…the look of a soul that would not give in or be triumphed over because love dwelt therein.

I pulled a knife from my belt as the sounds of battle grew closer. I could hear Leliana shouting orders, attempting to make it so that three humans might defeat eight qunari. They were long odds, and though I did not consider myself a betting woman, I would always place my gold and my trust in Leliana's victory. She had taken up the mantra of the Hero of Ferelden, a woman who had never known defeat.

 _She will not lose._ I pursed my lips into a thin line as I held a canteen to Donnic's lips and forced him to drink. _She_ _ **must**_ _not lose._

I reached into my pack and pulled out a roll of linen. I would bind the poultices into the wound and have the others guardsmen evacuate him back to a safe place. Donnic would _not_ die this day, not if I could stand between him and death. I used the knife I had drawn to cut away the stained material of his shirt, then took his arm at the elbow and wrapped the bandaging around it, receiving nothing but a chuffing exhalation and a wince.

I met his eyes, making certain that they were clear, not glazed with shock. My brows furrowed as I saw alarm in his eyes and his lips worked back and forth, his chest heaving as he attempted to gather the breath to speak. His other arm lifted, shaking, but he extended a finger, pointing at something, beseeching me to look.

I turned my eyes from his wounds in time to see a qunari archer draw back on his bow. One of the guardsmen lay on the ground an arrow through his throat, the other and Leliana were embattled against the other qunari. I assessed the situation quickly and reached for my sword. The moment the archer loosed his arrow, it would take Leliana in the back and pierce her heart.

"Leliana!" I screamed, but she did not listen or could not hear me over the din of battle.

 _Not_ _ **this**_ _day. I will **not** fail to protect her! _ I swore, reaching down and lifting my sword from the ground, praying that the Maker would be merciful to us all. I got to my feet, but it was too late. The qunari loosed his arrow. My heart fell into my stomach and I ran towards Leliana. My legs burned and my breath ached but I knew I would be too late. I could not outrun the arrow. I could not stop it.

I tripped over a piece of rubble and fell to my knees, reaching out for Leliana, screaming her name in warning. Out from the alley another figure appeared, armed but not armored. The arrow meant for my lover pierced the stranger in the side and I struggled to rise to my feet, encumbered by the chainmail and plate that I wore. The unarmored stranger skidded to their knees and I rushed towards them, worried by where the arrow had struck them. It could have pierced a vital organ with ease.

Leliana finished her opponent with a vicious slash of her blades and the qunari fell. The stranger looked to Leliana, then turned their head. In the half-light of morning I could see the mask that covered their face, leaving just their eyes, forehead, and hair visible. Leliana was doubled over, catching her breath, but she was still standing, still breathing. I moved towards the stranger when Donnic rasped out something that sounded like a warning.

An arrow whipped through my hair and I dropped to the ground, stunned as I saw the stranger rise to their feet and grab the back of Leliana's cuirass. They stepped forward while pulling my lover against them and my lips parted in shock when I saw another arrow bury itself in the stranger's back. A ragged cry pierced the air, then the stranger shoved Leliana forward. My lover fell to her knees and the masked stranger turned, running towards the qunari archers...somehow.

"Wait!" I cried, but the stranger did not listen. I would have run to them, but Leliana had not risen from her knees, and panic sheared through me.

I ran to Leliana, knelt down before her and lifted her head. She held her hand to her neck, bright ribbons of blood flowing between her fingers.

"Leli…"

"I'm all right." she assured me. "It's not bad." I reached up to remove her hand but she pulled away. "It's not bad." she whispered again.

"If it is as 'not bad' as you claim, then allow me to examine it." I ordered, fear making my voice more stern than it needed to be, but I could not deny that I was terrified.

 _She could have been shot, twice. By the laws of battle, she_ _ **should**_ _have been shot. And yet, some unarmored, masked stranger managed to be at the right place at the right time and they took…they took the arrows meant for Leliana. Her life is special. It is worth something. Perhaps Justinia sent another agent who operates much as we do to protect Leliana? But then…they would have worn armor._

Leliana moved her hand away from her neck, revealing a shallow cut in her alabaster flesh. She had assessed it correctly. It would be bothersome, but it would not imperil her life. I had used all of my spare bandaging on Donnic, so I used my knife to cut the hem from my shirt and bind Leliana's neck. One of the guardsmen had been killed by the qunari, but the other remained beside Donnic.

"Get him to a safe place, and watch over him." Leliana ordered the guardsman.

She lifted my pack and handed it to me, but her ocean blue eyes were distant when they met mine. They were far and away from this current moment and time and it worried me. When it came to action, to battle, Leliana was never anything less than wholly present. Now, it seemed that she drifted. Her eyes left mine and looked to where the qunari archers had stood. In their place were corpses, shells of the lives that had been there.

"We did not make it back to the archers." even Leliana's voice sounded tired. "Who killed them? How did they die?"

"The…man…who saved your life." Donnic ground out as his comrade helped him to his feet. "I watched him take two arrows for you, then he slaughtered the archers and left."

 _What?_ Confusion filled my mind. _They defeated the archers and are still alive? With two arrows embedded in their body? How is that possible? I need to…I need to find them and help…_

Leliana turned to me, confusion in her eyes. "That was not you?" she asked, her voice low. "You are not the one who wrapped me in your arms and kept me out of harm's way?"

I shook my head. "I tried to reach you, but I fell. I was not fast enough. Guardsman Donnic was right. You were saved by a stranger in a mask. I saw him too."

Leliana shook herself, as if waking herself from a dream. "How odd." she murmured, then looked at me and shook her head. "Kathyra, no. Inasmuch as I am…I am grateful to whoever saved my life, we cannot afford to tarry here. We have spent time enough already."

I frowned, but I understood her reasoning. The best way to aid the wounded was always to stop the fighting that bred injuries. Leliana and I knew that the qunari would not go to the Gallows to finish their holy war, but to the seat of Kirkwall's greed and avarice. The power of law that looked out on lawlessness and did precious little. We would have to go to the viscount's keep.

Leliana took off at a run and I followed her, but I could not get the image of a complete unknown arriving to the battle just as we needed them and risking their life to save Leliana's out of my mind. I whispered a prayer of thanks to the Maker, and begged them to keep the stranger safe, until I could find them and repay them, a life for a life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Leliana**

We were too late. The violence that filled the streets had made its way to the viscount's keep. Kathyra and I had barely made it through the doors before those who attempted to bar them were swept out of the way, not with hands, but with blades. The shrieks of the imprisoned, well-bred nobles of Kirkwall sounded shrill in my ears, once more making me despise the days I had spent among the nobility, wanting to be part and parcel with that manner of living.

Much had changed since those days. I had changed. But now I stood, not as one among them, but one willing to protect the fools who let themselves be herded like cattle instead of fighting back. The qunari had done well. Beyond well. They had corralled and imprisoned all the powerful people of Kirkwall. Even Knight Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino were in this room. And, in the center, near the severed head of Kirkwall's viscount, stood Micah Hawke.

I had known my share of tall, imposing warrior women, but few of those I had known struck the same regal, indomitable profile that the eldest Hawke child did now. I read her body, the tension in her shoulders, the flash in her eyes, the sternness of her jaw. Wicked blue eyes flared as she spoke to the Arishok, but I did not listen to the conversation. The words were not important. People died when they focused on the words and ignored everything else around them.

Amid the din of worried whispers, Hawke and the Arishok's exchange, I heard the sound of running feet. I turned towards it, saw nothing but a silhouette racing for an as yet unguarded door. It was a coward who would flee at a time like this, saving no life but their own. Let them run. Glory was for those who remained behind, who faced their demons. Immortality was for those who died in the facing.

I shook my head of the thought, slipping through the crowd, everyone so involved within their own lives and fears that not one took notice of the bloodied ersatz bandage around my throat. The cut had been glancing, but the brush with death very real, and I had no doubt, should we survive the evening, that my lover and physician would be more than happy to tell me so. I glanced back, shaking my head at the sight that greeted me, Kathyra bent over a fainted noblewoman, waving smelling salts under her nose, assuring the red-faced, quivering-jowled gentlemen next to her that all would be well.

 _How was it not she who saved me back in the alleys?_ I allowed myself to wonder, while still keeping an eye on the situation. _I felt the arms of my protector and they were warm and they were caring and so very, very strong. Even in the midst of battle I felt…I knew I was loved._ I glanced back to my physician. _Who else would it have been, if not Kathyra? Who else would…would make me feel as I felt then?_

For the briefest of moments, I entertained the idea of my rescuer, but dismissed it as quickly as the thought had come. My days as an idyllic dreamer, as a teller of tales that ended in reunion, were done. I served in the world of reality now. A world in which I had been made the Left Hand of the Divine. It did not feel right, to know that I was now one of the most powerful women in Thedas. Perhaps it felt this way because I could do nothing to alter the situation. The qunari did not respect the Chantry law.

If they knew who I was, my title and my place, they would slaughter me.

"Micah, don't be an idiot!" I heard a cry, a Rivaini accent that I knew all too well from my stay in Kirkwall and from the Pearl in Denerim, years ago, when a lusty pirate had cheated at Wicked Grace...then entreated me to warm her bed.

 _She murmured lascivious things and placed her hand on my thigh without permission. I thought it was harmless fun but was uncertain. Her touch made me uncomfortable but she would not remove her hand…until Salem broke her wrist…then the crazy pirate and my warden both began laughing. Wynne mended the bone and we spent the night drinking and laughing together._

"You gave me _no_ _choice_ , Isabela." Micah Hawke spoke loud enough for us all to hear.

Her voice was anguish and pain personified. However, there lay within her words an undercurrent of iron. I blinked and in that flash of a second, I saw the viscount's keep become the great hall in Fort Drakon. In the Arishok's place stood Loghain and in Micah Hawke's was Salem. Then, the blink was over, the memory done; leaving with it the lingering ache that would never fade. So long as I placed myself before sights such as this, I would be reminded of the heart that I left behind, cut down beneath the earth, a slave to the curse that had saved Ferelden and Thedas.

"No! It's not right! This is _my_ fight! You can't champion me!" Isabela's cries echoed across the floor.

From my position, I saw Micah look to the Rivaini woman and her eyes were eloquent in fear, distress, and an overwhelming, powerful love.

"I can and I will, and all I ask is that you consider the fact that _others_ **_have_** honor to defend!" Micah's voice rose. "Think of that the next time your wicked heart and your greedy hands paint a beautiful future for you at the expense of others!"

"If you hate me so, then why do you fight?" Isabela questioned, her voice rising over the nervous titters of the nobles and the ominous silence of the qunari. "Why not give me to them?"

Micah wrested her sword from its sheath, her raven hair falling in front of her face. Her opponent would use that feature to his advantage.

"Because your greedy hands stole my heart, 'Bela." Hawke's words held a razor's edge. "And because I won't let Kirkwall pay for _your_ mistake. One life for thousands; it's bloody worth it."

 _Forgive me for this but I…I have no choice. It has to be me…_ Salem's words from the night she learned of the warden's fate whispered through my mind _…I have to die_.

"Leliana," Kathyra's voice and the woman herself suddenly beside me, "Leliana, we have to step in. We have to intervene. Look at the size of his blades. He'll _slaughter_ her."

"Hawke will be the victor here." I replied, a calm in my words that I did not understand, but trusted implicitly.

"Leliana, there are miracles and then there is _reality_." Kathyra stressed the last words as the Arishok roared a battle cry and charged at the woman half his size. "The reality of this is that his strength and speed will win the day."

I shook my head, exasperating my lover. I knew she wanted to understand my reasoning, and even though I thought my words would grant it no justice, I spoke them for her sake.

"The reality of this, Kathyra," I murmured, "is that the Arishok fights for his belief and his faith."

"Ever more the reason for his victory." Kathyra hissed. "A man who fights for faith…"

"Is nothing compared to the man who fights for love." I replied, knowing the truth of it. "Faith alone _can_ sustain and drive and support. It is its own miracle, but it is from love that faith springs and thus Hawke's victory is certain, because she fights for love."

"The love of a fickle traitor who is apparently largely the cause of this madness." Kathyra glowered at Isabela.

The pirate woman was restrained by the elf who kept company with Hawke, not the slender, delicate maleficar, but the former Tevinter slave. Isabela tore at his grasp as Hawke's fragile-looking longsword and the Arishok's wicked double blades collided and sparked against each other. From the corner of my eye I saw the daunting figure of Aveline Vallen. Her shoulders were bunched into shrieking knots and, inasmuch as she had made my life a misery in Lothering with her suspicions and leading questions, I wished her no ill.

I prayed in that moment as I had never prayed before. I prayed that Hawke _would_ find victory, that Aveline's affianced would survive his injuries, that the man who had saved my life might be kept safe and whole. I prayed for the madness that gripped Kirkwall to depart with the western wind, for the safety of my friends, Kestrel and Rylie, both of them who lived under Meredith's tyranny; both of whom had nearly died for me.

My prayers were interrupted by a bellowing roar and I looked to see the Arishok charging at Hawke, his blades straight out before him. The woman backpedaled, but the idiot nobles hemming her in gave her no room to dodge. My throat tightened as I believed I would soon see the woman impaled. But Micah Hawke fought for love, and she took a risk much like someone else that I once knew…someone else who had fought for love.

Hawke rushed forward to meet the Arishok's charge and he angled his blades to pierce her through. She stopped her charge, trapping one blade beneath her arm and turning to the side. The Arishok's second blade screeched across Hawke's chestplate. The warrior took advantage of the qunari's charge and, with her one arm still trapping his dominant blade, turned in towards him and struck between his arm and shoulder with a gauntleted fist. Her fist landed where she aimed it, into a bundle of nerves that controlled the arm. The force of her blow caused the Arishok to drop his offhand weapon.

 _But she will pay for that small victory._ I looked to Kathyra, who had also predicted what would happen next.

The Arishok pulled back on the sword beneath Hawke's arm with brutal fury. A spray of crimson blood showered across the floor and splattered the faces of the insipid gaggle of high-born fools. Several of the ladies screeched and swooned, but over even their idiot ululations sounded the ragged cry of the injured Hawke.

" _Micah!"_ Isabela's scream echoed through the room. " _Fenris, let me_ _ **go!**_ _"_

My hands trembled, because I knew the tone of Isabela's voice. It had colored my own words many times…too many times. I knew what it was to watch my lover bleed in battle, to fear that they would fall at the hands of their enemy, that their eyes would close and open no more.

 _Not this woman, Maker, please. Not this day._

Warm, gentle fingers closed around my hand and I looked away from the duel into Kathyra's eyes. Understanding shone from the verdant green and my desperate prayer turned to a whisper of thanks. Thanks because I knew that, if we returned home tonight, my silence would not be questioned, my reticence would be forgiven. With the simple touch of her hand, Kathyra told me that she knew my nightmares would return; that I would wake, drenched in sweat, with another's name on my lips. My physician would neither judge nor rise to anger.

All eyes were on Hawke as she struggled to gain her feet. Blood sheeted down her armor and I could see the deep black gash in the metal. Who knew how much damage had been done? All we could see was the Arishok standing over her with his sword raised. Hawke scrabbled across the ground with her hand, searching for the sword she had dropped when she had taken the wound. Her fingers closed around the hilt and as the Arishok swung his blade down, Hawke rose up, screaming past the pain of her wounds, angling her blade into the qunari's heart just as he finished the arc of his swing. Her blade pierced his chest as his lodged deep into the back of her hip and thigh.

Hawke's body stiffened, but she managed to remain upright as the Arishok toppled to the ground. The nobles all began screaming and shouting, some in fear, some in triumph, no longer cowering because another had fought and bled for them. My lip curled upwards in a sneer of disgust. People such as these were wastes of the air we breathed. Many of them did not deserve the lives they had, much less the luxury that eased their way.

Kathyra was already pushing her way through the crowd, struggling to get to Hawke as the throng gathered around their very injured hero. If something was not done, Hawke would be killed by the gratitude of those who would choke her off from the aid she needed. I had seen this too many times before, and I had shed the blood of the ignorant grateful whose idiocy would kill the one who had saved them.

All through the room rang the shouts of Hawke's name, save for the woman's companions, who were screeching for another. I recognized the name they called, and it chilled me to my very bones. I knew this name, and the person attached to it. A person who had made a threat, a threat I would never forgive them for making.

 _Anders. Why in the Maker's name are they crying out for that wretched apostate?_

An icy energy nearby startled me out of my reverie, and I looked to my right, feeling sickened by the sheer power of Knight-Commander Meredith's frigid aura. She spat on the floor and looked to where the crowd gathered around Micah Hawke.

"Well." her words were a frozen blade. "It seems that Kirkwall has a new champion."

With that dark observation, she turned on her heel and marched out of the keep. I began pushing my way through the crowd, needing to get to Kathyra, to make sure that Hawke would be all right. The viscount was dead and I knew, as would any with the barest knowledge of the Game, that now was the opportune time to seize power over the city. Meredith would attempt to take that power and would, like as not, be successful.

With the viscount dead, the people of Kirkwall would have no voice, no defender. Micah Hawke needed to live. I would make certain that happened, even if I had to shed the blood of those who crowded around her.

"Clear a path!" I shouted, making my voice heard above the din.

I shoved and tripped and elbowed people out of the way until a path to the door had been made clear. The elf who had been restraining Isabela now knelt before Hawke, with him a man I recognized as Brother Sebastian Vael. The Arishok's bloody blade had been cast to the side. Hawke's eyes were still open, pained and terrified. Her paling lips moved in four syllables that would break the hardest of hearts.

 _Isabela_ , I read her lips. _She is crying out for her love, even though she is in too much pain to speak._

"Brother Vael, Fenris," Kathyra spoke, collected as only she could be in this situation, "on my command, lift her." my physician turned and set her eyes on me, shaking her head.

I faded back into the crowd at Kathyra's wish, understanding why she had signaled me thus when Aveline charged through the crowd and reached Hawke. Blood drained from her face as she saw the state her friend was in. Her eyes went to the dwarf and Hawke's closest friend, Varric.

"Where is Anders?" Aveline asked. "Why isn't he here?"

It was not Varric that answered, but Fenris. "The coward ran when Meredith arrived. Said he could not risk being caught, and now Hawke will suffer for his selfishness."

The blood that had drained away returned to Aveline's face with a flush of fury. "I will find that bastard, shove my fist in his mouth, and pull his manhood out by his throat!" the guard-captain threatened. "Is there anyone here who can…"

"I'm a physician." Kathyra spoke. "I will do what I can for her, but you had best send someone to find your mage friend. And pray. Pray to the Maker that she'll live."

"I'll find him myself." Aveline swore, turning and running from the keep, shouting orders at her guardsmen.

Kathyra nodded to Sebastian and Fenris. They lifted Hawke's body from the ground and the woman let out a piteous wail of anguish. I winced, remembering another champion, another hero's screams of pain. A hand landed on my shoulder and I flinched, then recognized the touch as my lover's.

"Leliana," Kathyra met my gaze, "it does not look good. I need someone who can competently assist me, and that is _none_ of Hawke's companions. I know that your presence in this city needs to remain secret, but I need your help to save this life."

I parted my lips to deny her, lest our greater purpose here be lost, but then I remembered a stranger's arms enfolding me, protecting me from the arrows of my enemy, and knew that I owed a life to the world. To the Maker.

I offered all that I had to Kathyra in the form of a weak smile. "Lead the way."


	8. Chapter 8

**Kathyra**

The city was chaos and hell. It seemed that every corner was piled high with the dead, and my boots had become stained from all the blood in the streets. All around me hovered the stench of smoke and death. The streets needed to be cleared and the bodies burned, or disease would breed and spread and once again endanger the lives of those who had been lucky enough to survive this attack.

There were times when I did not know why I cared for the inhabitants of this city. Every day, it seemed, they poised themselves on the brink of some new catastrophe. They courted misfortune and held risk close like a lover. It seemed those who did not give themselves over to fear and hatred were over-burdened with blissful ignorance...or blatant stupidity. In spite of all of this, I could not turn my back, no matter how much the events I witnessed, the cyclical repetition of damnation, made me wish to do so.

Events such as a healer abandoning a friend in order to preserve his own life and freedoms. A name had been cried out, and I had seen a shadow pass over Leliana's features. Somehow, she knew the healer of whom the Hawke's companions spoke, and did not think well of him. Even with no prior knowledge, _I_ did not think well of him.

 _It is not that I think ill of him for fearing Knight-Commander Meredith,_ I thought as I followed Sebastian and Fenris who bore the semi-conscious Hawke. _I know what harm that woman and her edicts have done to the mages. I nearly lost my friend's life to Meredith's cruelty. But I did not let my fear sway my actions, unlike this man, who seems to have chosen his own survival over the survival of the woman who saved this wretched city._

The estates of Hightown came into view and Varric Tethras ran towards the doors of the Hawke estate, the Dalish elf Merrill at his heels. It felt disingenuous to be here, to help them, and to act as strangers. We had kept close watch on Micah Hawke and her companions. We knew their names, much of their histories, where they had come from...but they knew nothing of us, save perhaps for the whispered words and secrets that haunted Kirkwall. Micah, Bethany, and Aveline knew Leliana from their days spent in Lothering. Sebastian knew her from her dealings with the Chantry. But not one among them knew my face, or whether or not they could trust me to care for their friend.

Yet they trusted regardless, and I would honor that. Unfortunately, Hawke needed a mage. Anything I might do for her would be a stop-gap measure at best. All of the spectators had seen the fountain of blood when the Arishok struck, but they did not know what the sword had done beyond the slicing of skin. I had followed the path of the blade with my eyes, assessed the damage that it would do and...and there would be no saving Micah Hawke with anything short of magic.

 _And the one mage they know that can help us is lost to the winds and his own fear. Perhaps the Dalish elf knows a little of healing. Though, to hear Leliana tell it, a Keeper's magic has very little to do with the healing arts, until they are older. They are first taught to protect the clan with their magic, which I understand._

The doors of the estate swung wide and Hawke's friends carried her over the threshold and up the stairs. I was met at the door by a pale elf-woman, whose large eyes were full of fear and riveted to the crimson spatters on the floor.

"You are a servant of the house?" I asked, needing to make certain before I began giving orders.

"I am." her voice trembled and her eyes did not move.

"I need the fire stoked in Hawke's rooms, boiling water, spare sheets for bandaging, and..." I winced, not wishing to do this, but knowing that if Aveline Vallen did not soon find the mage, Anders, it would have to be done, "...iron bars placed in the fire. Also, I will require honey, if you have any."

The elven woman ran towards the kitchen and I followed the blood spatters up the stairs, Leliana behind me.

"Irons and honey?" Leliana whispered as we walked up the stairs. "What possible use…"

"The Arishok's sword filleted Hawke's side." I answered, terse. "If I'm right about the injury, and I am rarely wrong, then her armor is the sole thing keeping a very large patch of skin attached to her body. If the mage cannot be found, the skin will have to be seared together. Too many layers have been sliced through for stitches to close the wound effectively."

"And the honey?" even my beautiful, strong-spirited bard could not hide the quavering of her voice.

 _She has been tortured_ , I reminded myself. _She has had hot irons pressed against open wounds in order to keep her alive so that even more pain and damage could be inflicted upon her person. It is still hard for her to understand that sometimes, torturous methods must be employed for healing._

"It works remarkably well for burns, easing the pain and staving off infection." I replied, feeling the shudder that rippled through the woman I loved.

"I see…" Leliana's voice trailed off.

When we reached the top of the stairs, her fingers latched around my arm, stopping me from entering the room where I _needed_ to be…but she would not halt me were it not important.

"What do you need, love?" I asked, seeing concern in her radiant eyes.

"You are not all here, Kathyra." Leliana accused, and I could not argue against the truth of her statement. "Where is the rest of your mind?"

I pursed my lips and breathed deep, uncertain of what her reaction would be to my words. "It is with the man who saved you in the alley." I told her. "I watched him take two arrows that would have ended your life. I want to find him, and help him, but instead I am…I am here."

"Micah Hawke saved Kirkwall." Leliana brushed a rogue strand of hair away from my face. "She needs your healing hands, now. As for the man who saved me…we can but be where we are needed and do what we are able. I am certain the Maker will show him kindness."

"I pray you are right." I whispered, and her hand left my arm.

I entered the room and nodded my approval to Sebastian, Fenris, and Merrill. Merill had stripped the sheets from the bed, leaving only the one that covered the mattress. Micah Hawke lay on the bed, a crimson stain spreading from her body across the sheet. They had made no attempt to remove her armor, for which I was grateful. I looked to the Dalish elf.

"Have you any skill with healing magic?" I asked, watching her alabaster skin fade to another shade of pale.

"I promise you are safe." Leliana spoke from behind me, her voice imparting comfort and reassurance in a way that mine never could. A calm confidence that she had not learned from her days with Marjolaine, but that she had possessed since I had known her…she spoke in the way of the late Salem Cousland, and I found it lovely. "Our sole desire is to help Hawke. The fact that you are a mage means nothing, and your secret will be kept."

Merrill nodded, but her lips trembled as she spoke. "I…I'm no good with healing." Leliana nodded, having thought as much, I was sure. "But I…I'm quite good with elemental magic, if that is…if that is useful."

"It is." I nodded. "I need you to keep her body cold enough so that she does not hemorrhage, but not so cold that hypothermia sets in. Do you have that level of control?"

"I do." the elf nodded and came to stand beside the bed, her hands wrapped around her staff, which she set out before her, and tapped three times on the ground as her lips began to move in an incantation.

I glanced to Leliana and noticed that she had gone pale, making the blood-soaked cloth around her neck stand out with a terrifying starkness. My lover was not one to faint at the sight of blood, or to shy away when it came to helping me mend a grave injury, but for some reason her eyes were riveted to Merrill and her spell. She appeared as though she were in torment, being tortured, as though some force had backspun her into hell itself…

 _Oh holy Maker…_ I remembered writing the story of a life lived, of a moment so very similar to this, when Leliana had whispered to me in the dark of the horrors she had endured. And after the recounting, she had wept bitter tears and curled into herself, shivering with the pain of her memories. I attempted to reach out, to touch her, to take some measure of her burden...she struck my hand away. She held sacred the pain of loving Salem Cousland. _T_ _his is very much like what happened that stormy night in Denerim, when Leliana dragged Salem out of Rendon Howe's dungeons. An apostate mage cast a spell to chill Salem's body so that she would not lose more blood…so that her fever would break..._

I rose from my chair and stood in front of Leliana, blocking her view of Merrill. I reached out, taking her hands in my own and wincing at their frigidity. I held her until her unfocused eyes settled on mine.

"Leliana, my darling, I am here." I whispered, low enough that none other in the room could hear. "I am here, and I _need_ you now. I know what you are seeing, and I cannot imagine that terror and that pain revisiting my heart, but this is not then. I need your hands, love, your strong, _capable_ hands."

"This is…" her lips quivered and her voice shook.

"Torture, I know." I reached up and cupped her cheek. "But I'll hold you at the end. I'll wash the blood from your hands and I will brush your hair and draw you back against me and let you speak to me of everything and nothing. But first, please, push through the pain. And when we are done, when we are alone, if that pain returns, I will be there. Trust me. Please."

"I was so afraid…" Leliana murmured, still lost in the past, but her eyes grew clearer and clearer as she looked at me.

"Look at _them_ , Leliana." I pointed out the others in the room, Sebastian, Fenris, Varric, Merrill, the elven servant and dwarven retainer. "They are afraid. We can alleviate that fear."

A shudder rippled through my lover's body, as though her soul had departed from the past and brought her back into the present. Her eyes grew sharp and clear and she nodded and squeezed my hands.

"Then let us do so." she spoke, and when I moved towards the bed, she followed me and did not look at anything but the body that needed mending.

"Help me get her armor off." I reached for the straps, breathing a prayer to an old Goddess…a goddess of mercy and healing.

And as I prayed, in the corner appeared a figure both fiend and friend. I glanced up from my work, nodding to the spectre of Death. I acknowledged his presence, then, once again, I began the fight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rylie**

In the Gallows, Meredith reigned as queen. Therefore, silence ruled. Hushed whispers, furtive glances, conversations spoken more with eyes than words. It was as the knight-commander wanted, for any undue racket heralded a change. Change that might be dangerous. However, there was truth in something that Leliana had once told me. Silence could kill if indulged in for too long. On occasion, it _must_ be broken. But I had never wanted to see the pall of silence broken in this way.

Templars were running forth and back, screaming orders. Mages skilled in healing moved with purpose, unwatched because their gifts were so needed at this moment. If the normal, fiercely enforced order of the Gallows had been disrupted, I could not imagine that nightmare that must be the city streets of Kirkwall. I pretended that I was working, that I sought to maintain what little order was present, but in truth I was searching for someone.

All of the templar and mage squads that had been sent to help keep order and combat the qunari in the city had returned. Micah Hawke's defeat of the Arishok was on everyone's lips…or had been, until Meredith strode through the gallows looking so icy that I was certain a single ray of the sun would shatter and melt her. Knight-Captain Cullen would give us no answers as to why she had looked like a walking thunderstorm, and the largesse of the mages were too afraid to speak to the templars, so we did not know what news First Enchanter Orsino had passed to them.

 _Bethany must be worried sick_ , I thought, seeking out the one apostate mage who had not been shaved or marked when brought to the Gallows. Her sister's name inspired that much respect…or perhaps fear. _I must remember to send a messenger bird to Kathyra and ask after Hawke. Meredith might not have shaved Bethany's hair or tattooed her face, but she tortures the poor woman in other ways…such as burning her sister's letters or keeping any knowledge of Micah from Bethany for as long as possible._

I continued my search, sweat running down my face, burning my eyes and chapping my lips. I reached up to loosen the ties on my shirt and winced as movement aggravated the gash in my bicep. An arrow had grazed my arm during the fighting, but the wound was in no way serious, unlike so many of the others. I had lost one of the templars in my squad. There was a time when a fellow templar's death would make me grieve, no matter who they were or how slight my acquaintance with them had been. But I had abandoned those emotions, leaving them back in the days when I believed that the templar order stood for something greater than it was.

But I did not grieve the death of the man who had died in my arms. I had seen him brutalize the mages we were meant to protect. He had been fond of cuffing the mage children about the head if they spoke too loudly while in the dining hall, or if they shouted while playing in the courtyard, and there had been too many times that I had seen several young mage women, always with golden hair, cower and curl into themselves when he approached. I had nothing but my suspicions to go on, but I felt certain that, with his death, the Gallows had been made safer for those it was meant to protect.

I clenched my hands into fists, attempting to control my worry. I had not found Kestrel in the courtyard of the Gallows, where the mages had been ordered to wait until they had been accounted for by the templars. I could but hope that she had been summoned into dining hall, which, because of its size and ease of access, had been made into a temporary infirmary. Kestrel had become adept at healing, and there were many, many wounded. The templars here were skilled at fighting apostates, bringing down abominations, and defeating their own kind in sparring matches. However, fighting the qunari…

I shuddered at the memory of how many times I had brushed with death during the course of the attack. I had been sent into the city before being able to properly armor myself, and the qunari were like no enemy I had ever faced before. They were tall and strong, their weapons had longer reach, and their style of combat was unlike any other I had ever encountered. If it had not been for the tactics taught to me by Leliana, I would have been dead many times over. Many of the other templars were not so lucky as I.

Many had fallen. More still bore grave wounds. We had…we had lost several mages as well, but I was forced to pretend that I cared very little about that. Keeping that pretense was perhaps the most difficult thing I had ever been forced to do. I wanted to run through the Gallows, screaming Kestrel's name, because I loved her, because I had not seen her, and I could not _bear_ the thought of her injured or…or worse…lying dead on the streets of Kirkwall.

 _All of the templar dead were brought back to be prepared for burial. But not…not the mages. The mages were left where they fell, to be tended to later by the workers of the city; to be burned and their ashes cast into the sea. The templars will be burned and committed to the Maker with full honors. Their swords will be inscribed with their names, and both the blades and their ashes will be sent to Val Royeaux, to the home of the Order, to be remembered forever. I hate this. I hate everything about this._

I entered the dining hall and the groans and cries of the wounded assaulted me. I walked down the rows of those injured and awaiting healing, looking at every body, hoping to see the shock of black hair and the vivid green eyes that belonged to the woman I loved.

"You fucking cunt!" I heard a gruff voice shout, and looked towards the sound, seeing a templar slap the face of Thomas Herron, a good, gentle young mage and a phenomenal healer. "That bloody hurt! You're supposed to _fix_ it not make it worse!" the templar continued to upbraid Thomas and I walked towards them, fury powering my steps.

The templar's tirade did not cease; instead, his language became more foul and his tone more demeaning. He reached out and grabbed the front of Thomas' robe, pulling the young man's face so close to his own that flecks of his spittle adorned Thomas' cheeks. I reached them, grabbed the back of Thomas' robe, and hauled him bodily away from the templar. The healer stumbled and I put myself between me and his ill-tempered, disgusting patient.

The livid templar cursed at me and reached out, attempting to grab my leg and trip me or perhaps pull me to the floor. I dodged his sloppy swipe with ease, then kicked him in the side of his rib-cage. He howled in pain and his arm dropped as he rocked back and forth, exacerbating his discomfort like an idiot. Not satisfied, I planted my foot in his chest and shoved him down to the floor, following that with a swift kick to his temple. The man's body went slack as unconsciousness took him and I nodded in approval as blood poured from the rip that the armored toe of my boot had made in his skin.

I turned back to Thomas, whose eyes were fixed on me in absolute shock.

"Are you well, Master Healer?" I asked, looking him over, happy to see that the only damage done to his person was the red mark from the templar's slap.

"I-I-I..." he stammered, unable to process what had just happened. "…yes, sergeant." he managed. "I am well, b-b-but he n-n-needs healing."

I shook my head. "There are others here who need your aid, Thomas." his eyes widened when I spoke his first name, treating him as a person, as an equal. "Help them first. Then, if that waste of air is still alive, you may minister to his wounds."

"B-b-b-ut we're s-s-supposed to treat the t-t-templars first." he stuttered.

"Then help the ones who don't curse you or strike you." I rested my hand on his shoulder and pointed to the rest of the wounded, of which there were many…too many. "That is an order, Master Healer."

"Y-y-yes, sergeant." he nodded his head, then bowed it, lowering his eyes further and moving to a new patient.

"Sergeant Camerloch, your arm." I turned and looked into the kind, dark eyes of Bethany Hawke. Her gentle fingers reached out and touched my blood-soaked shirt-sleeve. "Allow me…"

"It will keep." I told her, touched by her kindness.

Bethany and Kestrel were friends, but the younger Hawke and I had exchanged but a handful of sentences through the years I had been here. That she had sought me out and showed concern for my well-being helped me to believe once more in the good of mankind, especially given the horror I had intervened in.

"If you're certain." Bethany spoke of my injury, but in her eyes I could see a dark cloud. I thought that it might be concern for her sister, until... "Sergeant Camerloch, I haven't seen Kestrel. She is not among the whole or the wounded."

The world went white and fell out from beneath my feat. My heart began to pound inside my ribs like a caged falcon. My throat went dry and I lifted my hand to my neck as I struggled to breathe. I wished to re-write time and unhear Bethany's words, but, instead, I clawed my fingernails into the gash on my arm, needing the pain to prove that this was not a horrendous nightmare. I felt the pain and I wanted to die.

"You do not think that she…that she attempted escape, do you?" Bethany asked in a whisper.

"No." I replied, strangled. "No, she…she wouldn't."

Bethany's lips trembled. "I thought as much." her words were full of dejection and defeat. "But I wanted to believe." her eyes glistened in the light, showing the sheen of tears. "I wanted to believe it because otherwise…Maker, preserve us. Sergeant Camerloch, I am…I am so sorry."

I could not acknowledge her words. I did not want to acknowledge the truth. I felt as though I bled inside, as though I had been run through with a double-edged sword. My gut twisted and my heart _hurt_ in a way that it had not since Kestrel's Harrowing. There were no thoughts in my mind save the image of my Kestrel, the thief of my heart and the love of my life. My magic mistress. My mystic bliss.

I had not seen her in the courtyard, and Bethany had confirmed that she did not lie with the injured. It could only mean…it could only mean that I was…that the light of my heart had gone out. That Kestrel had paid for Kirkwall's freedom from the qunari…with her blood. With her very life. The metallic stench of blood and the cries of the injured became too much for me to bear. Black stars burst behind my eyes and I swayed, unsteady on my feet.

"Sergeant?" alarm filled Bethany's tone. "Sergeant Camerloch, are you…"

"No." my voice sounded like gravel and dust, like the yawning chasm of the grave. "No, I need to…I need to be alone."

 _But there is no place to be alone here. There are always eyes watching, always tongues wagging. I cannot stay here, however, lest my tears give me away. I cannot watch my tongue or my words in this state, and to have it known that I grieve for the life of a mage...I would be cast out of the order. Oh, Maker, help me now, I beg you._

Bethany's hand wrapped around my forearm, and her eyes moved to a door at the back corner of the dining hall. "Go through that door." she said. "It's a lesser-known entrance to the root cellar for the kitchens. You can remain there for a while, and if asked, I will make certain you are not soon found."

"T…Thank you." I breathed, stunned by her kindness. Kestrel spoke of it often, but this was the first time I had witnessed it with my own eyes. "How…"

"I needed a place to shed my tears for my mother's life." she explained, sorrow of her own coloring her voice. "I can see that you need that same privacy; that same grace."

"I am…I am grateful." I managed to rasp. "I know I…I can't repay you but…but I know you are worried for Micah. I will find out what I can, and I will…I will give you the information."

The tears welling in Bethany's eyes spilled over. "Bless you, sergeant." she whispered. "Go, before others see us speaking and grow suspicious."

I nodded and shuffled off. My feet felt so heavy, and my heart felt even heavier. I did not know why or how I still breathed, how my eyes managed to blink when I felt they should be fixed open in horror and shock and pain. I wanted to strike the stone walls until my knuckles were shredded and my bones were dust. I wanted to take my knife and cut out my heart because it _hurt_ so very much.

 _How can it be that I will never hear her voice in my ears again?_ I thought, making it to the door, looking back so that I knew none were watching, and slipping inside. _How can it be that her delicate, thief's fingers will never thread through my hair again?_ I stumbled down the stairs as tears fell from my eyes. _How do I continue on from here? I cannot…every day spent in this wretched hell is_ _ **agony**_ _, but I could bear it because of_ _ **her**_ _. Now I will not be able to…I do not know how to live anymore._

The stairs ended, spilling out into the root cellar. A faint glow emanated from a crystal in a glass sconce affixed to the wall. Kestrel had once told me about them, that the light crystals had been imported from Orzammar and that their crafting was a secret art held closely by the dwarves. I had asked why she knew something so trivial and she had smiled…

 _How is it that I will never see that wicked smile again? I cannot manage…I cannot…I don't…Maker…Maker…_ _ **help!**_

My throat tightened and I choked on my tears. I coughed, heavy and harsh, driven to my knees by the paroxysm, desperate in my attempt to _breathe_. Kestrel had always made me smile during my sorrow. She would brush away my tears and whisper something sweet about how eyes that sparked with heaven's own light should not be dimmed by tears.

 _She called them her night-sky eyes._

Images and flashes of our past bombarded me: our meeting during training, the night we had first been given lyrium and I had been forced to drag her out into the snow to cool her fever because the infusion of lyrium had made her magic nearly burn her alive. The horrific time on board the ship, when Kestrel had remained with me, holding me, tending to my wounds. The night we had first made love, outside, on a grassy hill, underneath the stars.

 _Never again._ A ragged sob tore out of my throat and even though I was on my knees I bent double with the pain of my grief, wanting to retch until I had nothing left in my stomach, nothing left in my body, nothing left in my soul. I screamed from the pain and clawed at the dirt floor with my hands, driving the soil beneath my fingernails until they ached. My body spasmed with wretched wailing; I could hear nothing but my own grief, feel nothing but the…

Warm, lithe arms wrapped around me, pulling me from my bent position. I felt gentle breath on my ear and heard the impossible.

"Don't cry, sweet girl. Please don't cry."


	10. Chapter 10

**Kestrel Ariyah**

I wanted nothing more than for this moment to last forever. Months had passed since I had felt the warmth and weight of my lover in my arms. Months had passed, full of furtive glances, longing thoughts, fruitless wishes, and torrid dreams. Now, for a perfect, transcendent moment, I held my dream made reality.

I had hidden myself when I heard footsteps on the stairs, and had all but lost my sanity when I heard and witnessed her agony and saw her double over. I knew that her tears were for me; that she believed the worst had come to pass. Seeing her so anguished devastated my heart. I would apologize and she would forgive. The fighting in Kirkwall, the death and desperation, had eroded the last of my strength. I longed for a loving touch, a gentle hand, whispered words. I needed the lover that the magic in my blood and the foolish laws of man denied me.

When my squad returned to the Gallows from the city, I did not follow the orders to remain in the courtyard. Under the pretense of lending aid to the healers, I had gone to the dining hall, slipped through the door unseen, and hidden in the root cellar. My plan was to wait for the chaos to end, then to slip out and make my way to Rylie's quarters. While the consequences of being caught were ever-present in my mind, I did not care. I would endure whatever torment Meredith could conjure if it meant I would be able to gaze into my lover's night-sky eyes, tangle my fingers in her chestnut curls, and breathe the same air as she. I would spend a lifetime in hell for one moment with her.

"Ke…Kestrel?" she asked, her lilting Starkhaven brogue cracking over my name. "Kes, is that you?"

Though I did not wish to release her, I loosened my arms, allowing her to turn and see my face. I hated the sheen of tears in her snapping black eyes, the grief she could not hide from her expressive features. I reached up and touched her cheek, feeling the soft skin dampened by her tears. Her lips trembled and she closed her eyes and turned her face into my touch.

We remained like that for a timeless moment, holding still because we could not believe that we were able to touch…that we were even able to inhabit the same space at the same time. I struggled to push past my worry that this might be a dream. I absorbed every detail that I could. The soft shadow that her tangled eyelashes cast against her cheek. The corners of her soft, supple lips trembling with the force of her emotions. The sweat-soaked chestnut curls covering my hand.

"You're real?" she asked, cracking the walls I had been forced to build around my heart in order to survive the nightmare that was the Gallows in Kirkwall, City of Chains. "Are you really here?"

"I am." I breathed, pouring all of my relief and love into those two words. "Please, forgive me." I begged. "I had to see you. I was planning on hiding here until nightfall, then…then…I just had to see you. I needed… _need_ to touch you."

"I thought you were dead." Rylie's words were soaked in anguish and the sorrow in her voice, so fresh and _real,_ pained me.

"Please, forgive me." I pleaded with her, knowing that she would forgive, but needing to _hear_ her say the words. I needed that as I had never needed anything before. "Please."

Rylie said nothing and I felt my heart begin to die. All love had its limits of endurance and our love had been pushed to those limits so many times. I knew, as did Rylie, that what bound us together could break if pushed too far. My templar lover got to her feet and turned her back to me. My heart fell into my stomach, but I would not kneel in the dirt. I stood up and determined that I would fight to slacken the strained boundaries of our love. I would bleed, I would break, I would debase myself…I would do _anything_ to save us.

"Do not turn away, Rylie." I entreated, walking closer, needing to be surrounded by her, to be part of the air she breathed. "Please, do not turn away. Forgive me." I supplicated. "Forgive me." She did not move. "Forgive me, Rylie." My voice hardened the slightest amount.

 _She can turn her back, curse my name, strike me down, but I will_ _ **not**_ _be given silence!_

"Rylie." I spoke her name because I needed to feel it on my tongue, because I needed the silence between us filled in order to quiet my fears.

Slow, in the half-light of the dwarven crystal, my templar lover turned to face me. I could see the tremors wracking her body, but the taut, corded muscles in her neck told me to keep my distance. Her lips quivered, but her black eyes were defiant.

"I thought you were dead, and I began to die." Her voice cracked and a single tear slipped from each eye. "Your magic, Kestrel. Can it heal a broken heart?" A pregnant, devastating pause. "Can it?"

I could not speak to that; could not find the words to reply. Magic could not heal a broken heart. But perhaps the one who wielded the magic had that ability. I did the one thing I could think to do, to speak in the one language that spanned Thedas, that was understood by all. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close to me. I felt my lips catch fire when they brushed against hers and the ache that filled me always at the sight of her became a powerful, ravenous beast.

Rylie moaned against my mouth and the vibration of the sound spread across my lips and spilled down my throat, flooding me with lust and urge and necessity. I _craved_ her in a way that no dream, despite its sweetness, could sate. Her slight, but powerful body slammed against my own and her strong, callused hands grasped my hips, pulling me tight against her. My fingers tangled themselves in her thick curls and I pulled her head back and savaged her throat with my lips and teeth and tongue. Salt, honeysuckle, and chamomile bloomed in my mouth, the unique flavor and heady scent that _was_ Rylie Camerloch.

I needed her.

 _Now_.

Using my greater height to my advantage, I pushed her against the wall. I clutched her wrists, removing her hands from my hips, and lifted her arms, pinning her with my hands and hips. She bucked against me, trying to free herself, to reverse our positions, but my longing had become a dragon roaring in my blood and between my legs and I _would_ be with the woman I desired above life itself.

We did not have much time, but if her body was as slick, needy, and ready as mine, we did not _need_ time. I bit down between her shoulder and neck, a place of great sensitivity for her and I cherished the gasp that fluttered across my skin.

"Kes, please." She moaned, her hips surging against mine and I pulled away, for, if I had not been forgiven, if she did not wish for my touch, I would cease. Her eyes looked like deep pools of dark water and I wanted so very much to drown in them.

"Yes?" I breathed, terrified.

Rylie's lips quirked in an almost lascivious smile. "Take me." She ordered, and the dragon within me roared triumph.

Time was so precious, so of the essence, and I knew that we would have to wrest this moment away from the madness and the madwoman that dictated our present lives. That knowledge, however, could not alter the fact that there would never be enough time to show or enough words to describe my love for _this_ woman. Her rasping, hitched breaths were the sweetest of music and she harmonized with herself and with the universe as she offered up a replete sigh.

I wanted her bare, naked and writhing beneath me, but I could not even touch her breasts. She wore a leather cuirass and we did not have the time for me to undo the buckles. I kept her wrists pinned with one hand and reached down with the other, making quick work of the belt she wore. Her sword and scabbard fell to the ground, making but a small noise when they struck the soft earth. It was enough of a sound to make me worry, to give me pause. I listened close for any change…hating that life in the Gallows had made me paranoid.

"Kes." Rylie breathed my name like a caress. "Please, lover, I…I need you."

The desperate edge to her tone cut through me like a heated knife and thrust me from my temporary paralysis. I lowered my lips to hers again, drinking in her taste and textures, regretting that the body before me, like a fine wine, could not be savored. Keeping her wrists secure, I slipped my other hand inside the waistband of her trousers. I wanted so very much to be gentle.

I did not have time to be gentle.

Rylie bit down on her bottom lip as the hair above her sex caught and pulled between my fingers, but her eyes rolled back when my hand found and slipped through the already slick swollen folds of her womanhood. In my heart, I rejoiced, and I knew, even if we were to be parted by a century and the sea, that were we to meet again, I would still be able to remember my lover's most intimate places. I would be able to find her entrance, for it was the gate that led me home. She was my center and my world.

I pushed two fingers inside her and swallowed her cry of shock and pleasure. Since we could not _truly_ be together, I curled my fingers inside her and pressed as much of me against her as I could. I wanted to feel her everywhere, to infuse myself with her essence and, not just forget myself, but wholly abandon myself and be _one_ with her. It would be a year at least before we were free to love each other once more; for now, I would have to be content with a frantic tryst that, if we were found out, could cost us our lives.

Rylie ground down on my fingers, and I crushed the erect, sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex against the heel of my hand. I set my rhythm to the panting breaths that fell from her lips. Her legs began to tremble and her inner walls clamped down on my fingers, trapping me inside of her, keeping me within the place I wanted to _live_.

My lover choked off a cry as her internal muscles kicked. She was so close to the edge. I wanted to push her _over_ that edge, cradle her as she fell, but I hurt, as well. This rough, literal fuck would not last long enough for me to convey to her all that I wished her to know. This could not show her the true depth of my love and devotion. This could not reveal the guiding fire that she was in my life; could not sing her the song that she placed in my heart.

Beneath me and against me, Rylie froze. Her night-sky, soot black eyes were sparking and pleading and as much as I wanted to linger, to remain here forever, I knew that time waited for no man.

One last, almost brutal thrust shoved Rylie off of the cliff. Her lips parted and her head slammed back against the wall as her hips jerked violently against me, prolonging the pleasure of her climax and screaming with the movement of her body so that she did not cry out. I absorbed her with my eyes, enraptured by the expression of primal release stamped on her features, and I struggled to deny the hunger of the dragon within me that demanded I burn away her armor and clothes and take her again.

I kept my fingers inside her and curled them up once more, pressing against her rigid skin and the nerves behind it that could double her over with pleasure. Her breathy whimper tossed my spirit about like a hurricane gale. I began to move my hand again, but when I added a third, she shook her head.

"Is it too much?" I asked. "I know it has been months, but I did not think the stretch would hurt you."

"Not that." Her brogue made my heart trip inside my chest. "You…Kestrel…I won't be selfish. I know you need this, maybe even more than me."

I stared in awe at my goddess and my paramour and the dragon within me _screamed_ with its own, rampant desires. The muscles of my core pulsed, insistent, and I knew that between my legs lay a flood of arousal and need and _want_. But the lack of time intervened inside my mind and I did not want to withdraw my hand. I wanted to be inside of her as long as possible, to feel her in the most intimate of ways.

"Give me your leg." I whispered against her ear as my own need roared again, hard and slick and more desperate than the man who faced the executioner's axe.

Rylie immediately planted her foot against the wall, her shorter height positioning her thigh perfectly between my legs. I rolled my hips against her leg, feeling the hard muscle beneath her clothing and skin, rejoicing when the seam of my trousers pressed _exactly_ as I needed it to. Again we began the frenzied, intimate dance. I plunged my fingers inside of her as I rocked against her thigh and sweat broke out on my forehead, dripping down my face as hunger drove me faster.

I bit the inside of my cheek because I wanted to scream in pleasure and triumph. My hand slipped from Rylie's wrists, wrapping my arm around her shoulders for support. She moved her hands to my hips, pulling me against her until our movements were more primal and fierce than dogs in rut. I saw a bead of blood on her bitten lip and the high-pitched, desperate whimpers that punctuated the air made me move faster and push harder.

A coil of heat gathered in my belly and everything within me contracted and pulsed, contracted and pulsed, in the rhythm as old as time. The leg between my own was trembling again and Rylie's eyes were wild. She was so close. As was I.

"Kes." She gasped. " _Please_."

I needed no further permission. Ignoring the cramp in my wrist and the burning in my elbow and shoulder, I maneuvered my hand, adding a fourth finger. I pierced her entrance and pulsed against her clit with my thumb. Her mouth opened and she bit down on my shoulder to muffle her exultant shout. The pressure of her bite tingled down my back and I pinned her against the wall, riding her leg with fervor and fury, slamming her hips into the wall until the damn within me burst.

All of my breath rushed from my lungs and I fell forward, resting my forehead on her shoulder, smelling her sweat and the leather of her cuirass, a fragrant, delectable perfume. I pressed my hand against the wall, trying to regain my place in the world, for every part of me shuddered with complete release and inexorable pleasure.

Rylie slid her foot down the wall, taking away the damnable, delightful pressure against my core, but then her hand moved and, before I could stop it, slipped inside my trousers and between my legs. I felt her callused fingertips against my drenched, swollen sex and I cried out as she coated her fingers with my arousal, and whimpered when she removed her hand.

I regained enough strength to lift my head and what I witnessed threatened to undo me. Rylie had her fingers before her lips, and her tongue reached out, taking delicate sips of my essence. The muscles of my core kicked so powerfully it felt like a second climax. My templar placed her fingers in her mouth and sucked on them as if they held a rare and delicious delicacy. I watched and the dragon within me calmed and shed a tear for the cruelty of life that had reduced passion and the making of love to _this_.

Rylie removed her fingers from her mouth and her eyes burned. "I had to taste you." She murmured, soft. "I had to taste you with you still inside me. I know…I know that you must leave but I want…I want you here forever."

"I want to stay." I covered her body with my own, needing to be near her, for I knew that time was running out. "You are my home and my prosperity and my reason for living."

"My mystic bliss." Rylie whispered her endearment for me. "Please don't go. _Please don't go._ "

I wanted nothing more than to give her what she asked, but I could not. It was a miracle that we had managed to steal this moment. I would cherish it, though. I would cherish it and be glad. However, I did not have the words to convey anything that I wanted to tell her. Some moments were sacred, and I honored the sacrosanct with my silence.

Slow, tender, I withdrew my hand from her center, my heaven. The action spoke more than any words ever could and Rylie's night-sky eyes filled with tears. They spilled over her eyelids like a waterfall. My own eyes burned and I, too, let tears fall. Even though my body had been sated, it was not my body that most needed satiation.

I wanted to be able to hold her through the night, to sit with her in silence or in conversation. To speak to her of my dreams and build castles in the sky. I wanted to lie with her on a bed of rose petals, surround her with the scent of incense, illuminate her with candles. I wanted time to remove her clothing and worship her with kisses. I wanted to anoint her body with the finest scented oil from Orlais, then make love, slow, sweet, and gentle through all the hours of the night. All of this I wanted…but I could give her nothing more than a frenzied, fully-clothed coupling.

I hugged Rylie close, memorizing the cadence of her breath as I felt her chest rise and fall against mine.

"I love you, sweet girl." I whispered. "I love you so much."

Rylie sniffled and hugged me so tight that my ribs hurt. "I love you too, Kes. I can't…I can't live without you. So you have to promise me," she sniffed again and moved her head back, locking her eyes within mine, "to never go away. You can't ever go away, Kestrel Ariyah. Promise."

"I swear it." I gave her my solemn oath. "I will never go away."

"But..." she sighed, "...you should go now." She scrubbed at her cheeks with her hands, removing her tears. "Go help the healers. No one will question that, and Bethany is worried about you. You should put her mind at ease."

I nodded, knowing that her words were truth and wisdom, but wanting to be stubborn and remain down here, just a little longer, to grant myself a little more time with the woman who hung my sun and moon and stars. I did not have that time. But I had this memory. I had this stolen moment. I would subsist on it and work for the day that a mage and templar could love each other without fear of punishment, reprisal, or death.

I leaned down and gave her one last, gentle kiss, trying to pour all of my passion and love into a soul that I knew was as hungry as my own. When the kiss broke, I took her face between my hands and pressed my lips to each of her closed eyes, then kissed her forehead, a promise to cherish. A promise to protect.

Then, feeling as though I ran myself through with a sword, I turned my back and walked away. I trudged up the stairs, so world-weary as my burdens, temporarily lifted by love and its ecstasies, settled on my shoulders once more. I rested my hand on the door latch, preparing to open it when I heard, down in the cellar, an anguished sob…my lover and my life suffering a different form of grief.

 _Thank you for what we have been granted,_ I whispered a prayer to the Maker, then opened the door knowing that, when I was alone in my quarters, I, too, would weep.

I would cry for the beauty of a moment stolen, and for the grief born from knowing that my lover lived. To my mind, it seemed it would be easier if a lover had gone to the Maker's side. There would be pain, there would be sorrow, but there would be solace in the knowing that the one you loved was at peace. Instead, Rylie and I lived with the torture of knowing that we lived, knowing that we loved, seeing each other every day and being denied touch, speech, and presence. I would weep for a love imprisoned and a personal pleasure and fulfillment denied for the good of Thedas. But I would also weep…

… _I will also weep for joy. Joy that my lips touched hers, that my hands brought her pleasure, that I could breathe whispers of love and affection against her ears. My tears shall be as my life. Bitter. And sweet._


	11. Chapter 11

**Leliana**

"I despise that man." I stood outside the Hawke estate and my voice whipped through the air, the vehemence in my tone shocking even me. I did not care. I needed to speak those words.

When Aveline entered the room, Anders in tow, I retired to the corner and hid my face. I did not want him to see me, for our past acquaintance had been fractious and troubled. As fortune would have it, I had not needed to hide, for tending to Micah Hawke had taken all of Anders' focus and my opinion of him had begun to change the slightest bit for the better when I saw his obvious care for the woman and the skill with which he wielded his healing magic.

That change of opinion had lasted for all of a shallow breath.

* * *

 _Anders finishes his diagnostic spell and nods his head in unvoiced thought. In the shadows, he cannot see me, but I watch_ _ **him**_ _with intent. His eyes have changed color. When I knew him in Amaranthine, they had been an unremarkable shade of green, but now they shone out in his face, a strange and luminescent shade of blue. I wonder if it has anything to do with the spirit that he harbors inside of this body, but I cannot be certain. After all, Wynne's symbiotic spirit had not changed her physical body in any way, and her situation was the only knowledge I had of a willing cohabitation with a spirit of the Fade._

 _"She's lost a great deal of blood." Anders speaks as though he is relaying new information, as though he does not hear everything that Kathyra has told him about Hawke's tenuous state. "Five of her ribs are cracked. How did that happen?"_

 _"Why were you not there to bear witness?" Aveline asks and in her words and voice there is a chill that would freeze the sea through. "All of us who call her friend watched her fight for our lives and for this city. Even the vacuous strumpet Isabela did not close her eyes."_

 _"But you ran." Sebastian takes over the upbraiding. "You ran to save your own life."_

 _"So that I could save_ _ **hers**_ _." Anders bites back as he pulls the sheets off of Hawke's unconscious body in order to examine her and begin the healing._

 _Aveline makes a disgusted noise. "I found you in Darktown in your clinic." she growls._

 _"_ _ **Healing!**_ _" Anders shouts in his defense. "I was_ _ **healing**_ _the injured!"_

 _"Were you?" Aveline quirks a disbelieving eyebrow. "You were alone when I found you. There were none outside your door…"_

 _"I've seen how you look at Hawke." Fenris speaks in his growling baritone. "I've watched you prance and pander before her like a child begging attention, and seen your eyes flare in anger when you gaze on Isabela. You ran like a coward, but you could at least have done honor to your promise to be her friend and healer and come_ _ **here**_ _, knowing it was where we would bring her."_

 _"I had to gather supplies." Anders defends himself and I shake my head, remembering the arguments between this man and Salem._

 _ **My warden was never one to raise her voice in anger when it could be avoided. But speaking with this man drove her to the point of shouting, screaming, and threatening violence…but she continued to give him chances, to help him make the most of his life as a Grey Warden. Her mercy ended in ill-fortune for herself…and now for Micah Hawke.**_

 _"You're empty-handed, Anders." even the gentle Dalish elf speaks of the mage's wrongs. "You brought no tonics, no tinctures, no bandages. Micah is alive thanks to the kindness of strangers."_

 _Anders frowns and glowers as he cuts through the bandages on Hawke's torso. "The kindness of butchers." he growls as he looks at the mess of Hawke's side._

 _The Arishok's blade had torn through the skin, cracking her ribs and chipping pieces of bone. My physician found the shards and pulled them from Hawke's she cleaned the horrific wound as best she could, though the pain of sterilizing the injury had made the unconscious Hawke open her eyes and_ _ **shriek**_ _in unmitigated agony before her eyes rolled back and she collapsed against the pillow. Kathyra had been forced to use the hot irons to sear Hawke's skin together._

 _The stench of burning skin had made Sebastian retch and he fled the room. Had I not borne witness to countless injuries worse than this…had I not felt my own skin cauterized by the red-hot iron…I, too, might have lost control of my body. Instead, I cradled Hawke against me as Kathyra used the most brutal of ways to mend the riven flesh. She had been forced to do so because we had no mage to heal Kirkwall's champion, and Hawke had lost a dangerous amount of blood. At the end, when Kathyra finished stitching the deep gash across Micah's buttocks and thigh, my physician had taken a sharpened, hollow reed, and shared her own blood with Micah Hawke._

 _ **After Salem was wounded by Bann Esmerelle, after Kathyra saved my warden's life and Wynne arrived, the senior enchanter told me something that broke my heart. Kathyra had given her blood to Salem, and, even though it did not bear the taint, Salem's body did not reject it. Wynne informed me that Kathyra possessed a rare blessing from the Maker; that her blood could be placed in any other's veins and they would accept it as their own.**_

 _"This is going to leave a terrible scar." Anders growls. "Not even magic can prevent that from happening now." he looks up from the wound his lips are curled in a snarl of disdain. "She will be marred for life…hideous even." he sounds appalled and I want to strike him, for I had loved a woman more scar-tissue than flesh, and found her all the more lovely and desirable for her flaws. Anders looks to Kathyra. "You did this?" he asks, and she nods. Fury sparks in blue eyes that should not be blue. "Why would you do such a thing!?" his voice is hard in anger._

 _Kathyra's jaw tightens, the sole sign of her anger. "Because I am no mage and not a coward." she replies, cool and placid. "Because I honored Micah Hawke's bravery and saved her life, in spite of the fact that I must use rudimentary tools. I cannot stop the blood gushing from a severed vein with a thought, nor mend torn flesh with the power in my hands. She will wear a scar, but she will be alive and that is_ _ **my**_ _tribute to her heroism. All you are good for now is cleaning the remains of the damage you allowed to happen."_

 _"You ham-handed pretender." Anders hissed. "Healing is the gift of magic. It is not a skill able to be learned by the hands of a mere mortal."_

 _"Healing_ _ **was**_ _the gift of magic." Kathyra says. "But hands that can heal are required in this world, and too many with your gift bear your same heart. Self-aggrandizing, filled with greed, and made of cowardice. You would not risk your own life to save your friend, and make no mistake, we nearly lost her many times. You cannot, in earnest, locate a place that puts you high enough to speak down to me."_

 _"You are a stranger in this house." Anders seethes. "You've no right…"_

 _"She has every right to be here, and is no longer a stranger in my eyes." Aveline speaks._

 _"A stranger in_ _ **our**_ _eyes." Merrill breaks in._

 _Instead of using her acceptance by the others to anger and continue her confrontation with Anders, Kathyra rises from where she has knelt beside Hawke._

 _"Angry words in a sickroom are more dangerous than infection." she says, and my heart fills with love at the sight of her competence and control. "I was a stranger unto you until this day, so I will take my leave. Guard-Captain, I have left a store of willowbark and feverfew with the servant, Orana. Given the severity of her injuries and the amount of time it took to mend them, it is likely that Micah will develop a fever. Watch her with great care and manage her temperature, but let her burn for a day, as the fever will drive out infection."_

 _"I will see to it." Aveline nods and Kathyra beckons me. "Physician," the Guard Captain calls back, and Kathyra turns, "from the reports my men have given me, I owe you two lives that are dear to me. If ever you have need, my sword is yours."_

 _"I am grateful, guard-captain." Kathyra smiles."Should you need me again, you can most often find me at the clinic in Lowtown."  
_

 _I slip to her side in silence, lifting her pack, for I know she is weak, physically and mentally drained, and that the tools of her trade are heavy. We walk out of the estate, hand in hand, saying nothing until we pass through the door._

* * *

"I despise him." I said again, for it felt cathartic to voice my emotions.

Kathyra's green eyes fixed on mine. "You have a history with the warden-mage, I take it?" she asked.

I nodded. "Salem invoked the Right of Conscription and made Anders a Grey Warden so that he might have _some_ freedom. She saved him from the shaving of his head and the apostate's mark. And he spat in her face, questioned her decisions, and at the end…at the end when he merged with a spirit of Justice, he threatened to kill my wi…" I trailed off, the vehemence of my feelings overtaking my memory of my current life and time and place.

Kathyra's eyes were eloquent in their pain. It was a pain she would never speak of…the pain that came from knowing that she loved me in a different way than I loved her. Both of us knew where our souls rested, but Kathyra gave me more than I granted her. She focused on what love she had left, the full measure of the heart that she could give, and imparted it to me. She did not often speak of Giselle…not in the way I spoke of…

"Salem." I amended my words. "He threatened to kill Salem, and I believe he would have, had their paths ever crossed again."

"I understand." Kathyra murmured. "But Micah does need a mage, and you know that Meredith will not send one, no matter the rank or station of one who begs."

I bit my lip as I examined my physician. Her eyes were listless and tired, her hair lank and sweaty. Her shoulders were bunched and I could see the crease between her brows that indicated a great pain in her back from bending Hawke's unconscious form. The sleeves and breast of her shirt were stained with blood, the same blood that made her skin sticky, along with the sweat that had dried on her body. Bright crimson stained the bandage wrapped around her elbow and I knew her too well. She had given Hawke more of her own blood than she could spare.

I drew close to her and wrapped her in my arms, feeling the shuddering of her frame from exhaustion and blood loss. The cheek that rested against mine felt cold to the touch, but fresh sweat trickled down her face and neck, gathering in the hollow of her elegant throat. Kathyra gave so much…too much, more often than I felt she should.

 _No one heals the physician_ …her old words from a different time whispered through my mind.

 _That will not be the case on this day._ I vowed.

"Lean on me." I whispered, holding her close. "I will take you back to the clinic and draw a bath for you and brush the tangles from your hair. I believe we still have some meat, so I will cook it for you and help you replenish the blood you have lost. And, after you eat, you will lie down and I will rub your back and shoulders with wintergreen oil to alleviate the ache in your muscles. Then I shall hold you and we will sleep and recover from the rigors of the day."

I pulled back from the embrace and studied Kathyra with great care. I could see the longing in her eyes and knew that my words appealed to her. I could also see that she would not be returning to the clinic with me, and I believed that I knew why.

"I love you, Leliana Cousland." Kathyra declared, delicate and warm. "But my heart will not rest and neither will my body until I find the man who saved your life. He preserved the most precious thing in my life. I cannot rest until…" she went another shade of pale and swayed on her feet.

I wrapped my arm about her waist before she could fall, my heart kicking in my chest with worry. "Kathyra…"

"…until I know that he is all right." my stubborn physician finished her sentence and I knew there was no persuading her to wait until the morning to search for the man who had taken two arrows for me.

"Very well then." I kissed her temple, tasting the salt of her sweat on my lips and tongue. "I will go with you. Two are better than one."

Kathyra shook her head. "You cannot, Leliana." she said, and I felt a coal of worry and anger begin to burn in my chest.

"Darling," I tried to reason with her, "it is taking all your strength to remain standing. You are chilled and you tremble for you gave too much of your blood. What if you collapse and no one is there to care for you?"

"Then I collapse." she softened her words with a smile. "But you are not simply Seeker Leliana any longer." she reminded me. "You are the Left Hand of the Divine and you bore personal witness to the events of this day. It must be _your_ words, _your_ story that Justina hears, for you are the most trustworthy woman in this city. You must write this report quickly so that you remember it all as it truly happened. You must go and do this, and I must start my search."

I wanted to rebel against her words, to defy her wisdom in favor of my own desires…but she spoke truth. I had new loyalties now, and it needed to be me who reported the day's events to Justinia. Meredith would report to the Lord Seeker, Orsino to the Grandmaster of the White Spire, and Elthina would also make a report to the Divine. But Elthina had not been in the streets of the city. She had not seen the devastation caused and the fanatics who had used the chaos to enact their hatreds. She had not seen an embattled mage kill both the qunari that assailed them _and_ their templar squad members.

"Promise me that you will take care of yourself." I commanded my lover. "The day is still too hot, you are exhausted and…you're so pale, Kathyra." I reached up and stroked her cheekbone with the pad of my thumb. "So pale." I breathed. "I am worried for you."

Kathyra reached out and grabbed her physician's bag. "I will keep care of myself, my love." she promised. "Now we must both attend to our duties. I hope to return to the clinic soon."

"I will wait for you, and pray for your success." I told her, falling in love with her yet again.

I gave her a parting kiss and moved down the stairs, walking towards the clinic. I thought of my physician's honor, her compassion and caring. Once, I would have found those traits a sign of weakness, as Marjolaine did when she ran her older sister through with a dagger. But Salem had taught me that honor was more precious than gold, compassion powerful enough to move the world, and caring genuinely for another a more effective weapon than the sharpest blade.

 _Maker, bring Kathyra home safely to me._ I prayed. _I do not believe I can live without her…I do not believe I am strong enough to bear another lover's death._


	12. Chapter 12

**Kathyra**

I watched Leliana walk towards Lowtown, wanting to be with her, but, by the same turn, needing a moment to mull over the words she had said and the emotions she had kindled. I did not have the right to be angry with her. I knew that, but knowledge and logic never could rule over the emotion and damnation that was love.

I sighed and shouldered my pack. I understood Leliana's bitterness. I would not deny that when the mage, a supposed _friend_ of Micah Hawke, possessed the _gall_ to condemn the actions I had taken to save her life, I wished to lash out against him. It had taken me years to learn the skills of a physician, but no matter how practiced I became, I would never be able to heal in the same manner as a mage. I had not been born with that gift and curse. I would forever be mortal, with only skill and knowledge to attempt what, for so long, had been relegated to the realm of the arcane.

 _Some scars are unavoidable, even with magic_ , I thought, remembering Leliana's body. A mage had ministered to her wounds, but she still bore the memories of her torture imprinted in her skin. Worse, even than Leliana, was the landscape of scarring that had been the body of Salem Cousland. Born with a resistance to healing magic and determined to bear the burden of the Blight, she had been torn open more times than a human being should have been able to survive.

 _Another thing that she and Leliana had in common_ , I kicked a stray pebble in the street with much more force than necessary. _They survived things that would have_ _ **killed**_ _another and, if it did not kill them, leave them physically and emotionally broken for the rest of their lives. However, both of them healed. Then one of them died, leaving a scar of another sort in Leliana's heart. A kind that can never be mended in full. Not even by time.  
_

I struggled to remind myself that I had no right to be angry. There were no set rules of grief. There were no limits to how long the heart could love. At the base of the truth, Leliana made no error when she almost referred to Salem Cousland as her wife. Death did not sever a marriage vow, it simply made it impossible to keep. It was _all right_ that Leliana had spoken of Salem in that way. It should not hurt.

It fucking hurt.

 _Maker's blood-soaked breath, Kathyra,_ I railed at myself. _I am not a child and I refuse to allow my thoughts to transform me into one. We are all allowed to grieve in our own way, and I am longer separated from my loss than Leliana is from hers. Even were that not true, she corrected herself, and she did not do that because she believed it to be false. She corrected herself because she loves me, because she did not want to_ _ **hurt**_ _me and, like a_ _ **fool**_ _, I am still hurt._

I shook my head to clear it, in order to focus on the reason I still walked the streets. I needed to find the man who saved Leliana. The man who kept me from ending this day in tears and with a broken heart. Even if I were to find him dead, I could at least save him from the mass burning of the corpses…give his death some honor. I hoped even more to find him alive.

 _Though the arrow wounds alone might have killed him, especially if he reacts like most fools and, in his panic, pulls them out. He'll shred his insides if he even attempts._

The thoughts made me walk faster and I attempted to ignore the tragedy surrounding me and find the man I sought. However, the qunari attack had taken its toll on the city. All faces were pale, all eyes haunted. People moved through the streets clinging to each other, not speaking, as though they wished to be ghosts. The streets were splotched with dried blood and I saw several wagons burdened with the bodies of the dead being cleaned from the streets. I did not want Leliana's savior to be there, lifeless flesh pressed against lifeless flesh in a sickening efficiency that offered the deceased no respect.

I searched through the carnage, finding no sign of the man as Hightown became Lowtown. I shivered as the sun began to creep lower in the sky. Leliana was worried for me…not without good reason. I _had_ given Hawke more blood than I should have, but she needed it, and no mage had been present to see if any of her other companions might have been able to do the same.

Through the labyrinth of Lowtown I walked, bypassing the Hanged Man where those who had survived worshiped their god with cheap whiskey and stale ale. The air filled with bawdy, raucous songs and sloppy racist slurs against the qunari. A schnockered man stood atop a table, bellowing at the top of his lungs the tale of Hawke dueling the Arishok. Those listening sang to her bravery, but they did her no honor.

To honor Hawke would require them to bestir themselves from their drink and make something more of their small, small lives. To honor her would require them to open their eyes and see that a darkness reigned in the City of Chains: the pall of fear and the radical need to control both the fear itself _and_ the progenitors of that fear. With the viscount dead, Meredith would strike. She controlled the mages. She controlled what the people of Kirkwall feared. This city would place itself into her clutches and damn itself with a whisper of praise on its lips.

I shook my head and pressed on, not wishing to think about human-kind's seeming ingrained proclivity for self-stagnation and destruction. As I moved through the alleyways, the noise of the celebration of fools quieted down, allowing me to hear, on the edge of sound, a low growl, almost like that of a wounded animal. I quickened my feet and moved further into the alley.

Barely visible in the light of the setting sun, I saw a figure. The shirt they wore was stained red on the right side, and I could see the fletching of an arrow protruding from his side. Two swords lay in slack hands, the fiery orange of the setting sun glinting off of the blades. His head was hanging, chin resting against his chest. I would have believed him dead save for the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. In fact, the evenness of his breathing should not have been possible with the wounds he had sustained. His ability to bear pain must have been beyond the comprehension of most mortals.

I slung my pack off of my shoulder and rushed to his side, kneeling down only to discover that I had been wrong. The shoulders were broad, the height deceiving, but beneath the blood-soaked, loose shirt I could see the outline of soft, high breasts. The woman who had saved Leliana had dark brown hair threaded through with silver, cut short in the style preferred by many of the men in Kirkwall. I could see nothing of her features due to the mask that she wore; it began just below her eyes and covered the entirety of her face.

 _The pain would have made it difficult to breathe. I do not know why she wears a mask, but it is doing her no favors. She needs to be able to breathe free._

Gentle, I rested my hand on the broad shoulder noticing, to my horror, the smear of blood trailing from her shoulder up the wall that she was slumped against. The trail ended at about where her shoulder would rest, were she to stand at her full height. I looked down again to see an arrowhead protruding from just under the woman's right collarbone.

 _Did she push herself against the wall to force the arrow through?_ I wondered, my question answering itself as I saw a broken-off arrow-shaft near her body.

"Are you awake?" I asked. "Can you hear me?"

It took a moment, but the woman nodded. I reached for the knotted cloth at the back of her head so that I could undo her mask and allow her to breathe more easily. Many hours had passed since the skirmish and the time spent at the Hawke estate. She had wisely left the arrows in her body, effectively staunching the bleeding, but heightening her risk of infection. She must have been in so much pain, and I owed it to her to alleviate that pain. I began to undo the knot, speaking to her all the while, attempting to impart some comfort and reassurance.

"You are going to be all right." I told her, though I did not know enough of her condition to ascertain if I spoke the truth. "My name is Kathyra. I am a physician, working out of the clinic here in Lowtown. If you think you can walk, I will take you there to remove the arrows. With the help of my apprentices I could sedate you and you would be out of pain while I cared for you. I want...I want to ease your pain, for the woman you saved is very dear to me." the knot came loose and the mask fell away from her face.

I stared in shock, not wanting to believe what I saw, unable to deny what lay before my eyes. On the woman's cheek was stamped a scar, a beautiful indigo and scarlet scar made by a kiss of dragon's fire against her skin. I knew this woman. I knew her to be dead. My hands went cold and panic and confusion tightened my throat while a starburst of hollow frost began to eat away inside my chest.

"I know who you are." a voice rasped, a voice that I did _not_ recognize. It sounded like sandstone scraped against metal, a rough and broken thing. "You are a kind woman to seek me out, but you should spend your charity upon one who is worthy of it."

I lost my voice. I could not move, not speak, could barely even think as I saw the woman presumed dead, my lover's soul-mate and wife, sitting before me, pierced with arrows. Arrows that she had taken in Leliana's stead, standing between the bard and danger as she...as she always had. It had not been a stranger that saved Leliana, but a dead lover, a ghost in the night, the woman that haunted her dreams, whose name she cried both in horror and in entreaty for rescue.

"Do not speak my name." Salem urged me, soft and low and deadly. "Do not breathe my presence to the world, and you will owe me nothing. Go back and forget what you have seen here."

"I do not know what nightmare I have entered, but I will not malign my conscience and leave you here in obvious suffering." my words were hard but my hands were trembling and my mind on fire. "Salem…" even speaking her name terrified me.

"Kathyra." Salem Cousland breathed my name and lifted her head, turning her closed eyes to mine. "Leave me."

" _No_." I would _know_ what was happening here. " _Look_ at me." I ordered.

"You do not want that." she warned, but her closed eyes terrified me. Even though I knew I would not be able to bear her scarred gaze for long, I needed to see it. I needed proof.

"Please...just open your eyes." I entreated, needing to see. The scar on her face could only belong to one woman but I _needed_ to know if this vision was true. I needed to see the scars inside her eyes, the chilling glimpse of mortality that made her gaze so difficult to bear.

"You will regret this." Salem's eyes opened, a stunning, riveting silver-blue.

A silver-blue that held the shrieking, despairing, rapacious depths of hell.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note:** Just a quick note for anyone who thinks Kathyra might be a little out of character in this chapter...she did tie a woman to a chair and set her room on fire once. That is all :) Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **Salem**

 _Salem, all I know…all I know, in this moment, is the sheer magnitude of her love for you. Because I…I cannot bear to look into your eyes._

Kathyra said those words to me, long ago, and she proved it yet again. The woman who had demanded that I open my eyes cast hers away, and I did not miss the slight shudder of apprehension that rippled through her body. I almost wished that it bothered me, but it did not. My first death scarred my eyes and those scars screamed of mortality. Those who met my eyes trembled, for they saw in my gaze the promise that death is no respecter of persons, that someday they would breathe their last and walk through the long dark and to the Maker's side. My eyes were the promise that all would make that journey, in time.

In those days, it had been difficult to meet my gaze, but those who knew me well could bear it. The scars in my eyes had ceased to frighten Leliana after she became accustomed to them. However, the scars had changed. They had deepened and intensified to the level that I could no longer even bear my reflection. I had stood in paradise. I had spoken with my father, embraced my mother, laughed with my sister-in-law, swung my nephew into the air as we lived in a land without darkness and shadow.

Then, the sky went dark and from the center of the swirling void descended a flaming talon. Razor claws had pierced me through, my heart and stomach had been impaled and I blackened paradise with my screams of pain. As my soul was shredded by the hand of a spiteful god, I relived every moment of pain, every injury I had ever received, emotional and physical and, when I found myself once more imprisoned in my body, when I had looked upon my reflection I bore witness to what my eyes had become. My own gaze was imprinted with every torture I had ever experienced, every grief that brought me to my knees. I saw Leliana leaving me in the Frostback Mountains, relived Loghain's whips tearing me to pieces in Rendon Howe's dungeons, endured all the wounds dealt me by the Archdemon. In my eyes lived the agony of watching my mother slain, holding my nephew's tiny corpse, burning alive when I drank the tainted blood of the Joining.

I witnessed every hell I had walked through when I met with my reflection. However, this curse was not mine alone to bear. When another's eyes met mine, they relived and experienced _their_ torments. Within my eyes lay a portal to the abyss and I could not ease it for them. I could not change it. I wounded everyone who met my gaze and could do nothing to remedy their pain. To look at another flayed my soul and cracked my shoulders with a guilt so profound it could not properly be defined.

I watched the physician rummage through her pack, in awe of the woman's kindness. The first time she saved my life, she had been in love with Leliana. She could have let me die, and those of a lesser heart would have. But not Kathyra. Her heart possessed a strength so beyond comprehension that she laid her own dreams and emotions on an altar and slit their throat. She would have done so forever, I knew. If Leliana had not reciprocated her emotions, Kathyra would have taken the torch she carried for my…for _the_ bard, and doused it, even if she snuffed it with her own tears.

 _But I know Leliana. Without love and without faith her heart will asphyxiate and her soul will perish. And she has_ _ **so**_ _much love within her, bright and radiant as the sun. I knew…I knew when I went to my Calling that Leliana would return to the Chantry. And I knew that, given time, her heart would be able to love again, and that a strong, kind woman waited with the patience of a saint, who would be willing to take Leliana's heart in her hands. I knew Leli would be cared for…would be loved. She is loved and that…that is all that matters. That_ _ **must**_ _be all that matters._

Kathyra lifted a small healer's knife, the blade honed to a delicate angle. She studied the tool for a moment before turning to me, keeping her eyes averted. She threw the knife into her pack and wrapped her hand around the shaft of the arrow impaled in my side.

"How could you!?" she shouted and the arrowhead pushed deeper into my body.

A raw scream peeled out of my throat and I doubled over until my forehead pressed against my bent knees. I struggled to gather enough breath to answer, for I felt that I knew where Kathyra's anger came from. I managed to breathe through the pain, parting my lips to speak when inside my punctured body I felt a bladed _twist_ of metal inside of flesh and I _shrieked_ , the sound echoing in the alley and ringing in my own ears. I could feel my blood pounding through my veins and it began to seem as though that blood had been replaced with acid.

"How could you lie to Leliana and falsify your own death!?" Kathyra accused and her words neither angered nor shocked me.

 _The gods do not reach into the land of the dead and make them living once more. If they did, then surely the Maker would have taken Andraste's soul and imbued her flesh with it once more. I am willing to admit that I look the villain who lied. The villain who, for reasons unknown, put my wife through the torture and torment of losing a lover._

"Do you not know how she grieved for you!?" Kathyra continued her tirade, punctuating her angered words with agonizing jostles of the arrow that impaled me. "Do you not know that she grieves _still!?_ Where have you been these last years, Salem Cousland!?" she demanded to know, giving the arrow a sharp pull backwards that made me gasp and nearly faint. "Did another claim your heart, you undeserving, split-tongued, black-hearted bitch!? Did you _falsify_ your death to shed the _burden_ of your _loving,_ _ **devoted,**_ _ **beautiful**_ _ **WIFE!?**_ _"_ I said nothing and Kathyra tightened her grip around the blood-slick shaft of the arrow. "Tell me why I should not just take my vengeance now for the pain you put her through? Tell me why I should not just run you through with this arrow and _slit your_ _ **lying**_ throat!"

I gathered what little strength I had and turned to face her. "Would you?" I asked, not to taunt her or to mock her, but in earnest, honest inquiry. "Kathyra, I beg of you, please do."

The knuckles of the hand that grasped the arrow turned white with the force of the physician's grasp, but in her eyes I could see justified, righteous anger beginning to be diluted with confusion.

"What?" she asked, her Orlesian accent reminding me so much of Leliana's that tears came to my eyes.

"You sought me out to show me kindness." I rasped, feeling thick trails of blood sliding down my chilled skin. "I beg you now for mercy. Perhaps it is mercy I do not deserve, but your calling bids you to ease suffering does it not?" she gave a slight nod, bewilderment in the movement and stamped on her features. "Please ease my suffering, Kathyra. Please end my life."

"What, by the Maker's twisted grace, are you saying?" Kathyra asked. "Is it only now, when you are faced by someone who knows you _and_ of your wrong-doing, that you beg for death to alleviate my suspicion?"

"I am no bard, Kathyra." I coughed and groaned as the arrows in my skin jarred. "I play no games with hearts and emotions. My sole wrong-doing…" I coughed again and the pain made me scream behind gritted teeth. "…was that I died. I had no say in living again, but cannot pierce my own heart or cut my own throat but you," I reached out and covered her white-knuckled hand with my blood-stained one, "you can and…and if you love Leliana as I know that you do, you will grant me the death I ask for."

Without making eye contact, I watched her. The hand gripping the arrow-shaft loosened its grip and a soft light of realization came to rest across her features. No one who had falsified their death would beg for the reality of death, not even to escape one who had learned of their sin. But I had started the nail and needed to hammer it home, to make Kathyra understand.

"You saw," I paused as a chill shook me, reawakening the agony of the arrows, "my love for her. You know that our spirits were linked. Leliana _felt_ me die, just as I felt us severed when a darkspawn's blade ran me through." I rested a hand over my heart. "Here." Kathyra gave a slight nod, as though accepting my words. "And, if I loved another, would I have kept the remnants of the love I no longer wanted?" I asked. "Would I bear these swords that were her gift to me? Would I not have severed this finger?"

I extended my left hand to Kathyra, that she might bear witness to what I spoke of. I had died beneath the earth, unburied, where the darkspawn, rats, and deepstalkers might gorge themselves on my flesh. I had no knowledge of the manner in which Flemeth had brought me back, rebuilt my body, or siphoned the taint from my blood, but I did know that she had not taken the greatest of care. The ring with which Leliana swore her marriage vow to me could no longer be removed. I could still see the dark outline of the silver band beneath the skin of my finger. The sole part of the ring that remained above the skin, able to be touched of itself, was the nightingale in flight. It looked more akin to a Rivaini body piercing than a wedding band.

Kathyra lowered her gaze, removed her hand from the arrow-shaft and pulled her physician's bag closer to her. "I do not know." she murmured. "Would you have?"

"I have done nothing by halves in the entirety of my life." I reminded her, knowing that she had no choice but to believe it as I said it, for Leliana would have confirmed my every word. I fixed my eyes on the woman. "Dead or living, Leliana is my last love. There is no more room in my heart, for she has taken it all. Even if I had but pretended to die, it would not have been for love of another. For if I loved her not, would I be in this alley with two arrows stuck inside my flesh?"

"This makes no sense, Salem." Kathyra shook her head, her ash-blonde waves swaying with her movement. "The dead do _not_ return. They do not walk among the living once more in the flesh. It is simply against the laws of the Maker and nature."

I leaned back further against the wall, hissing in the discomfort that, for another, would have curled them into their bodies and wrenched screams from their throat. I simply had too much experience with and knowledge of pain.

"Human kind worships the Maker." I let my arms fall to my sides, limp, as it strained me too much to move them any longer. "However, the fact that we place our faith in her does not mean that the gods whom other races and creeds worship are false gods. These gods are not gods of love like our Maker. They can be vengeful, spiteful…even fearful of what they foresee. Perhaps it is this fear that drove one of them to action; made them pierce a hole in heaven, thrust my soul back into its body, and infuse that body with a life it should not possess."

"There are no tales of resurrections." Kathyra argued, not questioning my giving the Maker of Thedas a feminine pronoun. We knew the truth that history had altered.

"Before me, there are no tales of a warden surviving the slaying of an archdemon." I countered, keeping my tone gentle, finding it harder to do the more I spoke. I had not said these many words together in the months I had lived again.

Kathyra pursed her lips, closed her eyes, and sighed. "I can no more grant the gods their powers than I can disbelieve your tale." she admitted. "And since I cannot disbelieve, I suppose that I should apologize for the accusations I made against you."

"No." I shook my head, wishing for water to cool my abused thoughts. "You did not speak amiss, Kathyra. In fact, you spoke to me exactly as you should have. I thank you."

The physician's face became a study in incredulity. "For what?" she asked, her tone sharp. "Reviling you? Pushing the arrow into your body and twisting it so as to torture you?"

I shook my head, then tilted it back and closed my eyes. My mind conjured the dream, the dream of Leliana. Her face emerged from the shadows in perfect clarity. The artistic height of her cheekbones, her full lips that wore a teasing smile with perfection. The sculpted arch of her brows, elegant line of her jaw, her fiery halo of hair, and the ocean eyes that were damnation and salvation existing in the same, perfect moment. I loved this woman. I loved her with all of the heart and hope that I had left.

"No." I answered Kathyra's questions at last. "I thank you for loving her so well. For caring for her and cherishing her beautiful heart. For touching her scars with passion and reverence and making her feel whole when she rests beside you in the dark."

"Your mind is ill, Salem." Kathyra's voice held a sharp, ruthless edge. "What do you ask of me with that gratitude? That I step aside and give her back to you? If you wish that, then do me the courtesy of asking in plain language."

I managed a breathy laugh. "That is all I want in this world, Kathyra." I gave her the truth as ever I had. "But I will not ask it of you, nor will you tell Leliana of seeing me this night. You cannot speak of it and if you tell me that you will then I will cut out your tongue."

"You blighted martyr." Kathyra huffed. "All you want in the world and you will not take it? Even if a god dragged you back from the Golden City you would still be human. You cannot make me believe that you will not seek out Leliana, that you will not tear her away from me."

"Yes I can." I replied, darkness filling my tone. "You said yourself that there exist no tales of resurrection. However, it is possible, and my living is proof of it. The Maker herself handfasted us, Kathyra. The Maker _herself_ smiled down on the love of a warden and a bard and consecrated it. Then, I died. I died because of the taint in my blood. A taint that is no longer there. What do you think will happen if Leliana sees that I am alive?"

Kathyra said nothing, simply removed several packets of herbs from her pack, pouring careful measurements into a mortar and grinding them together into a paste.

"She will know that her Maker could have spared me." I answered my own question. "She will know that her Maker _allowed_ me to die in spite of both of our prayers that begged the god of love for…" tears slipped down my cheeks, "…for more time. Her faith will shatter, Kathyra, and her faith is so very important, so very vital to who she is. I will not destroy the woman I love, and neither...neither will you."

Kathyra looked up from her work, caught my eyes, and quickly turned away. "I do not care _what_ you say." she stated. "You are _not_ human."

I remembered Leliana looking at me with the same expression Kathyra wore. I remembered her anger and her passion and her pleas that I act and be more human. I never knew the proper way in which to respond. I still did not. So I spoke now as I had then.

"As you say."


	14. Chapter 14

**Kathyra**

I did not know what to feel. I did not know what to think. I did not know anything anymore. I sat before a woman I knew to be the paragon of honesty, and listened to a thing I did not know if I could believe. The gods no longer interfered in the affairs of mortal men. The Maker had been the last, and she had long been silent. She had allowed her story to be twisted and mangled and done nothing. The Maker spoke to Leliana, this was something Salem and I both knew to be truth…but did that mean that the other gods had awakened and begun moving in and altering the world?

 _The Chantry would have us believe that there is but one God, and that it is the Maker. But if that is the truth, how is it that an archdemon still rises from the Black City and sets against us the dark and twisted enemies of Thedas? Perhaps a god did bring Salem Cousland out from death and back into the world of the living. How can I disbelieve Salem when I believe what Leliana says to me of the Maker and of her visions?_

"Does it matter what you believe, Kathyra?" Salem asked, seeming as though she could read my mind. "I thought that, once, what I believed shaped the world in some way: altered it, perhaps. But those were the thoughts of a child who still believes that they can change the world. The thoughts of a child who believes that change can be made without the shedding of blood, and that freedom can be bought with altruism and good intentions. It is not so. We are forever slaves save for those blissful, divine moments in which we love."

I did not know how I could fear a woman, respect a woman, and feel torn asunder by her words all within the space of a breath. Salem spoke of love and she had fought for it, bled for it, and she had…she had _died_ for it. I knew the story of Salem Cousland with intimacy, had penned every tale that fell from Leliana's lips. I knew why my bard still loved this woman…I had saved Salem's life once before, at the cost of my own heart. I did not know if I had it within me to heal her once again…at the cost of _her_ heart.

She had begged for death, and for the first time as a physician, I did not know if I should mend her wounds or grant her what she asked for. There had been many occasions where others made the same request of me. To ease their passage to the Maker's side so that they might be free from the pain. I had never listened, always fighting against death, for life was sacred to me. But Salem Cousland did not ask for death so that she might be free from pain. She was not that sort of woman. She asked for death so that she might keep others from suffering.

 _How are you real?_ I wondered as I had wondered five thousand times during my chronicling of the Fifth Blight. _What do I make of you? How do I heal you…how do I, in good conscience, return to the woman I love and destroy her faith by telling her that the one who holds her soul once again breathes in this world? How do I not? Maker, help me now._

"Go." Salem rasped, tilting her head back against the wall, clenching her jaw, holding back what I knew were waves of agony…waves I had compounded in my anger. "Your conscience will do you no kindnesses here. So allow me to silence it. _Go_ , Kathyra. Return to her. Love her and forget me."

"Maker damn you." I hissed, for her words had given me conviction. "I cannot, Salem. A part of my heart wishes that I could but it is…it is _your_ life and I cannot be the one to end it. Not _your_ life. Anyone else, perhaps but…but not you."

"Oh?" the question rang, defeated, and her shoulders flexed with a chuff of air expelled from her lungs. "Then there is to be no mercy." the words stung, but somehow I felt they were not meant for me. "Very well, physician." Salem spoke. "Attend to your calling. Mend the flesh too often riven. Heal the body too often battered. Repair the shield of all the world and cast me into darkness yet again."

Those words pierced me and again I felt anger kindle in my spirit. "You've no right to beg for mercy. Have you any measure of knowledge of the many who have gone before, the countless who would sacrifice all they have in order to be given life again?"

"Yes." Salem whispered. "There are so many." her rasping voice sounded like a haunting, like the bitter, cold winds that whispered through the Fallow Mire. "There are so many more willing, more deserving. Those for whom breath once more within their lungs would be…would be a blessing."

Ignoring her words, for the moment, I reached into my pack and pulled out the dwarven light crystal that Leliana had given me. I could not take Salem to the clinic, nor would I drag her into the drunken chaos of the Hanged Man. I would have to care for her here, on the street. Rubbing the crystal between my hands caused it to illuminate, and I affixed it to a slot in a leather band that I placed around my forehead.

In the light of the crystal, Salem looked much worse. The indigo smudges beneath her eyes were darker than any I'd seen. Her eyelids looked swollen and were rimmed red with exhaustion. Her fair skin glistened with the slick of sweat, and she was several shades too pale. The scar on her cheek stood out in stark relief, the kiss of a dragon marking the woman whom the gods would not let die. The woman to whom my lover's soul belonged. The dried blood on her shirt looked garish and frightening, made moreso by the arrows still lodged inside her skin.

"Maker, what a mess." I muttered, reaching out and grasping the arrowhead protruding from beneath her collarbone. "Prepare yourself. This is going to…"

"What does not?" she interrupted, and I shook my head.

More than most would have passed out by now. The longer a foreign object remained beneath the skin, the more painful it became as the body attacked it, causing inflammation that worsened with each passing moment. Salem's shirt covered her body, but I knew that, beneath the material, her wounds were heated, swollen, and red. Because of the time she had allowed the arrows to remain, I would have to take many more precautiouns to ensure that her injuries did not fester and become infected. It would not be pleasant.

"I almost do not wish you to remove them." Salem broke the silence and my concentration. I glanced up and nearly made the mistake of meeting her eyes before casting my gaze back to the arrow.

"Whyever would you wish such a thing?" I inquired, placing two of my fingers on either side of the arrowhead, making sure that the tip rested against my palm so that with one smooth, firm pull, I could extract it.

"Because I held her again." Salem whispered, the reverence of pure love resonating in her broken, cracking voice. "I felt the warmth of her in my arms even as the arrows struck and it was…it _is_ all that I desire. The arrows hurt, but they remind me of that…that breath of bliss."

 _I do not know if I am terrified or heartbroken_ , I thought, struggling to focus on the task at hand. _This is so different from the time before, where Salem's body lay broken and I confessed to her my love of Leliana…who belonged to her. But…but now Leliana is mine and Salem…Salem still is the one who bleeds. Yet I cannot offer her the comfort she gave me. I cannot make her the promise that she gave me when I left her room that night._

I made no reply, for there was nothing I could say. Instead, I gripped the arrowhead and, with a sharp jerk, pulled the arrow free. Salem's feet pressed against the ground, her back arched, and her lips parted in a wretched scream that I _begged_ the Maker to never hear again. Fresh blood began to stain her shirt again from the re-opened hole in her body, but I could not apply pressure because her body still twitched and thrashed in the throes of agony.

I had removed over a hundred arrows from the bodies of hunters, templars, soldiers, and the like. In the clinic, I had been able to give them a sleeping draft, or poppy syrup to dull the pain. On the battlefield, I had been forced to remove the projectiles as I did now, with nothing to mitigate the agony. Most of the patients had been forced into shock by the pain, or they passed out from it, thrashing and screaming until their eyes rolled back in their head and they embraced oblivion. How Salem could endure this with nothing but gritted teeth and the occasional shudder after her initial reaction mystified me. I knew that she felt the pain…but she seemed to have found the ability to conquer it instead of letting it rule her.

"I need to remove the second arrow, Salem." I told her, dreading it. In my anger I had driven it further, twisted it, and it would be exceedingly difficult to withdraw. "I cannot clean or bind your wounds properly with your shirt on."

She nodded. "Cut the cloth around the shaft, pull it over the arrow and I will remove it…with your help, if you are not averse. I do not think I can do it by myself." she pointed her chin at her wounded shoulder and I nodded, pulling my healer's blade out of my pack.

I cut through the cloth around the shaft and pulled it free, slipping it off of the arrow. Salem winced as the dried blood that had adhered the material to her skin made it difficult to remove her clothing. I gave her a moment to gather her breath before wrapping my arm around her shoulders and propping her up, away from the wall. She worked her left arm through the sleeve, and even that little exertion caused sweat to break out on her forehead and her breath to come in harsh pants between clenched teeth.

Pitying her, I used my other hand to grasp them hem of her shirt and lift it up over her breasts and head, allowing her to lean back against the wall. Gentle, I pulled the shirt off of her right shoulder and down her arm. Salem hissed as fresh blood flowed from the hole in her body. My throat tightened as it had the first time I laid my eyes on the body of Salem Cousland.

 _The woman is made of scars._ I thought, remembering Leliana's tales of every injury her lover had taken, of every time Salem had defied death, and the fact that healing magic almost destroyed the warden. A true healing, quickly administered, could prevent scarring, but Salem Cousland could not endure being healed. Her body was a veritable legend of the times she had defied death, and, I realized, looking at the new, thick, vertical scar on her left breast, through her nipple, above her heart, the times she had died.

"I…I do not understand." I murmured. "If you were brought back from death, Salem, why was the wholeness of your flesh not restored? Why do you still possess every scar?"

Salem reached up, covering the scar over her heart with her left hand. "So that Leliana will know that I am truly her lover returned from death." she whispered. "So that it will sunder her faith and end every beautiful hope in her. Because one woman's sacrifice is another woman's damnation. The gods are cruel, Kathyra. Cruel as I do not wish to be."

When those words left her lips, I knew that my decision had been made. Leliana would not know of Salem's life from my words. I would lie to the woman I loved at the request of the one woman that loved her as much...no... _more_ …than I did. I thought of the passion in Leliana's voice when she spoke of the Maker, of how she rallied all of our spirits with her words of faith. Of how she had aided me in keeping my sanity in the madhouse that was Kirkwall.

 _I could not bear to see Leliana lose that faith and because of that, I shall attempt to bear the burden of the lie. Oh, Maker, I beg you to strike against whatever demented god thrust this torture upon your faithful warrior. I beg you to show Salem Cousland mercy…it seems no one else in this world has. Not even me._

I reached into my pack and withdrew a tool I did not often use, and for that, I was grateful. Giselle had designed it for the removal of an arrow from the soft tissue, when pushing it through the skin would do more harm than good, risking the puncture of a vital organ. Two flat spars of metal with rounded edges were riveted together at the center, and the spars were attached to two circular handles.

"I need you to lie down on your uninjured side." I said, and she obeyed, her movements stilted and obviously pained.

I closed my eyes briefly, for I needed to control my emotions when I saw the scarred and tattered mess of her back. She and Leliana…both flogged for the crime of being innocent. They were a matched pair, body and soul, and I felt very much the interloper, holding a heart that did not belong to me. It belonged in the hands of a woman strong enough to deny her every want to ensure that the one she loved could retain her faith and, through faith, her innocence.

"Lie as still as possible." I ordered, lifting the tool.

Slow, I parted it enough so that each spar rested against the shaft of the arrow, with the wood between them. With my free hand, I spread the skin around the projectile and worked the thin spars of metal down into the wound. Salem _shrieked_ and it echoed off of the stone, ricocheting into the night. The screaming did not stop as I continued, but it became muffled as Salem bit down on her wrist. At last, the tips of the spars came to rest on the arrowhead.

I paused and wiped sweat from my brow, looking down, expecting to find Salem unconscious. But her eyes were open and, slow, she removed her wrist from her mouth. I winced as I saw the deep marks left by her teeth, beads of blood welling from the indentions. I pitied her. I pitied her for her strength and yet through my pity was woven admiration.

I turned my attention back to her wound when the rasp of her voice, even more hoarse from her screaming, sounded in my ears.

"Is she happy, Kathyra?" Salem questioned, a transcendent and passionate love in her simple, rasping words.

I shook my head, needing to ignore the question that pierced and savaged my heart. Salem lay here, shuddering, _bleeding,_ _ **suffering…**_ and she asked if Leliana was _happy_. My lover spoke true. This woman was not human. Could not be human.

"You are doing well." I offered paltry, pathetic encouragement. "The worst will soon be over." I outright _lied_.

Salem nodded and I grasped the arrow, then spread the spars until I felt the tips of them slide off of the arrowhead. Salem's fist struck ground but she no longer had the energy or breath to scream for all that ripped out of her throat were desperate, agonized sobs. I removed the arrow but left the spars inside, keeping the wound open. I threw the projectile away in disgust as it pulled free of Salem's body.

Blood surged upwards out of the wound, flowing down Salem's back and abdomen in thick rivulets. I immediately reached into my pack for yet another implement I dreaded using. A bottle of clear, distilled alcohol. It was the strongest astringent that I possessed, but when poured into a wound it caused more pain than the entry or the exit of what made the injury. I set it aside, needing to accomplish one more thing before I sterilized the punctures.

Using the spars to spread the wound a little farther apart, and directing the light of the dwarven crystal into the gash, I saw what I sought and reached into my pack. I felt around the various implements, attempting to ignore the hitched breaths and pained groans of my patient and, at last, finding what I sought. I withdrew an implement that looked much like the tool used by the fine ladies of Orlais to pluck their eyebrows, but it had been fashioned longer and larger and its purpose was the debriding of wounds.

"There is a piece of cloth inside the injury, carried there by the arrowhead." I informed Salem, attempting to sound clinical and detached as I would be with any other patient.

Again, Salem nodded. I spread the wound once more and Salem made a noise like a wounded animal. It cut me straight to the core and I resolved to be done with this as soon as I could, for both of our sakes. With sure, precise movements, I reached into the wound and withdrew the scrap of fabric. Salem's body shuddered once, violently, then she relaxed.

I dropped the blood-soaked fabric on the ground and reached for the alcohol, removing the cork with my teeth. I held it over the spread wound, holding a brief debate on whether or not I should warn her, or send her body into shock and unconsciousness so that she might know respite from the pain. I hung my head. I could not do such a thing. It would dishonor my calling. It would dishonor Giselle. It would dishonor Salem Cousland.

"The wounds must be cleansed." I told her. "I need you to stay _very_ still, as the astringent must remain in the wound longer than usual to prevent infection. Are you prepared?"

"Yes." Salem replied, her voice nothing more than a croak.

I breathed deep to steady _my_ nerves, and poured alcohol into the wound until it spilled out of it. A high pitched wail broke from chapped lips that could speak of love like a poet, saint, and madman. Salem curled into a tight ball, somehow managing to keep the injured part of her body still. When the wail broke, an eerie silence descended; we could hear nothing but our own breathing. Then, the silence shattered.

"Does she…" Salem gasped, "…allow herself…to be happy?"

The dagger in my gut twisted and my throat tightened as once more Salem baffled and devastated me. She was going to walk away. She would leave this alley and go…somewhere. I would return to the woman we loved and she would hold me, and we would kiss, and share each other's slumber. I owed Salem the answer.

"She does." I hoped my words comforted the woman who knew no mercy.

The warrior's body seemed to relax and I retrieved a boll of cotton from my pack, pressing it over the puncture to soak up the alcohol, blood, and the beginnings of infection that had been pushed out of the wound, as intended. That done, I prepared my needle and thread. Salem flinched at the first stitch.

"Does she…write music?"

"Yes." I replied, gentle.

"Quote poetry?"

"Yes." I answered again.

"Does she still tell the ancient legends?" in Salem's voice lay a longing that no poet could capture, no author conjure, no mystic understand.

"She does." I murmured.

Salem turned her head and looked at the sky. "Then she…kept her promises." I finished my stitching and the warrior coughed. "She did not…let my death…quench her spirit."

I helped Salem sit back up, noticing, with a quick glance, that the hell in her eyes appeared glazed over. I had seen this expression countless times. She was so lost to the pain that she would feel nothing that I did to her any further. Those who journeyed to that place seemed to exist in a state of suspended consciousness, as though their spirits hovered between the Fade and the waking world. Some who ventured there, who had lost their limbs or watched their comrades die, never returned from this place. However, I knew that Salem Cousland would return.

I took the alcohol again, pouring it into the entry and exit wounds on her back and shoulder, feeling a slight chill when the warrior did not at all react. Her scarred blue eyes looked to the stars, her lips parted the slightest amount, then curled into a smile.

"I knew," she rasped as I began to stitch the ragged tears in her skin, "that she…would find it…within herself…to love once more. I am grateful…that it is you…who holds her heart." Salem's left hand reached up and she cupped my cheek. "A woman…" she breathed, "…of honor."

"Please, do not say such things." I begged her, unable to hear, bear, or contemplate her gratitude.

I felt a thief in my own home; felt that the love I would return to was stolen and sundered and yet…and yet Salem gave me her blessing. Salem asked me to return. Salem begged me not to tell. For the sake of the woman loved by us both. For the sake of a life that we both wanted to live, but that only one could. And the woman who had sacrificed everything time and time again did so once more. My heart hurt so badly that I wished I did not possess one.

"Love her well…Kathyra." Salem adjured me. "Love her…well. Please."

"I shall." my lips trembled as I wound bandaging tight around her abdomen and shoulder. "I swear to you, I shall."

Saying nothing more as I tied off the bandages, the warrior grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head, leaving her right arm tucked inside it. Salem then rose to her feet, nearly knocking me over by the force with which she stood. I stared up at her, wondering where she had found the strength to stand. She turned as though to leave.

"Salem, wait." I entreated, and she turned to me. I reached into my pack and pulled out a small vial. "Poppy syrup." I extended it to her. "It will ease your pain."

Salem Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, the woman who held the soul of the Maker's newly called prophet, wife of the Left Hand of the Divine, shook her head, refusing the gift. She knelt before me, reaching out and curling my fingers around the vial I held out to her in my palm. Once glance at her eyes told me that she was back in our world, that she could feel every shrieking pang of her injuries.

"You denied me that which would ease my pain, Kathyra." her words sounded raw and shredded. "There is but one thing that will spare me this anguish, but you did not let me die."

Her words sent shivers down my spine and she rose to her feet once more, turning and walking further into the darkness of Lowtown. She paused where the alley emptied into the street and looked back at me. I was able to bear the gaze of her eyes at this distance, and in them I saw a pain more eloquent than instrument, quill, or bard could ever craft. The broad shoulders were stooped with agony, guilt and exhaustion, but her words rang clearer than a clarion bell.

Her lips parted and when what she said reached me I began to weep, for on the wind floated a single sentence that Salem Cousland _alone_ could say at a time such as this, and mean it with her full heart.

 _I forgive you, Kathyra._


	15. Chapter 15

**Leliana**

Worry was an old friend. I knew it all too well. Much of my life had been punctuated with frenzied, frenetic intervals where my heart raced and dragged my mind with it. The imagination I had trained to seduce and to charm, when blended with the life I had lived and the things I had done, so often worked against me. It was not simply that I thought of those I loved in peril. No. Nothing so simple as that.

I could see the exact scenario play out in my mind, hear the words spoken, watch my greatest fears come to life with every sense involved and in presence. I could see the bright splash of blood upon skin, smell the sweat and steel and the acrid afterburn of magic. Because of this, when I heard the knock at my door, my heart leapt into my throat. My blood raced through my veins, burning as it coursed through my body.

My knees trembled as I approached the door, because I knew all too well how easily hope could be dashed against the cruel, bladed outcroppings of reality. However, I also knew that it did me no good to run. Whatever would happen, whatever would come, I could not avoid it by remaining behind a door. I no longer had the luxury of locking myself away, no matter how much I desired to.

I opened the door and rushed forward, wrapping my arm around Kathyra's waist. She sagged against me, her breath heavy, heated, and labored against my neck. She had over-extended herself; I could feel the tell-tale shudders through her body. I guided her towards the bed in the loft above the clinic that we called…something other than home.

"Sit down, love." I urged her, taking her heavy pack from her shoulder and setting it aside.

Upon my return from the Hawke estate, I had bathed myself, drawn a bucket of water from the well for drinking, and prepared a bath for Kathyra. The bathwater would be tepid, but being able to bathe in the comfort of the loft would be infinitely preferable to frequenting Kirkwall's bathhouse, especially after a day such as this one. I poured Kathyra a cup of water and took it to her, kneeling down before her as she lifted the cup to her lips with a trembling hand.

Her eyes were flat and hazy, green like the color of the sky before a windstorm. Her pallor had worsened and it concerned me. I reached out and took her hand in mine, measuring the beat of blood at her wrist, finding it too fast and thready for my liking. That, and the dried blood on her skin and underneath her nails. We had left the Hawke estate with clean hands...

"Kathyra," I drew her attention, "Kathyra are you hurt? Were you injured after we left the Hawke estate?"

"I'm not hurt." my physician mumbled, but her speech was slurred and her hand quavered as she reached out. Her fingers brushed the stiff, bloodstained cloth still wrapped around my neck. "You are. Let me…let me look at your neck."

She fumbled at the knot and I rested my hand over hers, stilling her movement. Reverent, uncaring of the blood, I pressed my lips to the back of her hand. The pressure of the kiss and the slight tang of blood whispered through my senses, reminding me of Salem. So many of our kisses had been flavored with copper and salt. This was the first such kiss I had given Kathyra, and the gesture felt right, but the taste did not. The bliss stained with blood…this was not who we were. I would kiss my physician again, but never in a place with blood on the skin. That manner of intimacy, what it meant for me and _to_ me, belonged to another. Forever.

"I'm all right." I tried to assure her. "But you do not look well, my darling. I have already washed, and I believe you should too."

Kathyra shook her head, and even her swaying, ash-blonde hair looked exhausted. "Not until I make sure you are well." she whispered.

"Soon." I offered a compromise. "It will keep until you have washed and gotten out of those filthy clothes." I looked at her shirt, once white, now soaked and spattered in blood. Her trousers were no better. "We will have to burn them."

Kathyra sighed. "Again?" the left corner of her mouth quirked up in the barest expression of mirth and I allowed it to hearten me.

I nodded and pulled the boots off of her feet, then eased down her socks. I winced at the sight of her feet. They were blistered and raw. Kathyra hissed in pain as the cloth pulled at the inflamed skin and I winced in sympathy, murmuring apologies. I stood and extended my hand. Kathyra took it and I helped her disrobe.

I paused for a moment, taking in the legend written in her body. Scars told the tales of a life lived, and, in Kathyra's mind, she had lived many lives in the course of her years in the world. Her life with me was her fifth, and from this life she bore no physical scar. But there were the others, those like silvery lines in her skin from her youth, or the white, wide scars earned during her life as a bard. Those scars, however, were not the ones Kathyra valued.

She treasured the scars from her time with Giselle. These were the scars that, in the eyes of those who sought physical perfection, would be found grotesque. However, Kathyra and I both understood the meanings of scars, their necessity, and we shared the belief that the physical reminders of our wounds recalled to us our humanity. They made us better. Stronger.

Kathyra shivered in the cool evening air and I stepped forward, wrapping my arms around her naked body. I slid my hand up her side, allowing my palm to rest on a wide swath of raised scar tissue on her right side. My body bore this wound's twin and I knew that Kathyra would understand the placement of my hand, that she would translate from the touch the words I did not say.

 _I have stood where you stand, loved where you have loved, hurt where you have been wounded. I understand and do not judge. I understand and find you beautiful. I understand and you are free in my arms and in my love. Be at peace. Be at peace._

I pulled from the embrace and led Kathyra to the tub, helping her ease her legs over the side, and side down in the water. I wished for a moment to have the gift of a mage so that I might heat the water and make her more comfortable. But, in spite of the lukewarm bath, Kathyra sighed in replete content. She reached for the soap and, once again, I stayed her hand.

"Allow me." I kept my voice low. "You have done so much for so many today. Let me, at least, grant you some small measure of comfort."

I prepared for her to argue, but she did not. She leaned back against the tub, waiting for me. I shook my head to clear it, having to remind myself for the time whose number could not even be subjected to hyperbole, that Kathyra was not Salem. She would push herself to limits, but never consistently exceed them. If I wished to care for her, she would allow it without dissent. Her actions brought me joy, in their own way, but they lacked that blistering, blissful, torrid, heavenly damnation that defined my love for Salem Cousland.

With Kathyra settled in the bath, I took the soap, dipped it into the water, and began to wash her weary, over-burdened shoulders. As much as I wished to allow her mind and body to rest, I needed to know. I needed to know if she had found the man to whom I owed my life. I parted my lips to speak when she cleared her throat and answered the question I did not ask.

"I found him." Kathyra's voice sounded more world-weary than ever I had heard. "I did…I did what I was able, worked as fast as I could, cursed death and spat in its face but I…I…" Kathyra turned and looked at me, her green eyes sparkling with tears, a gaze filled with guilt and shame. "…I lost him, Leliana." she whispered. "I lost him."


	16. Chapter 16

**Kathyra**

The expression of concern on Leliana's face melted away, replaced by an empathy so sweet and soft that my heart broke along its old fault lines. She, who was trained to spot the liar, to pick them from a crowd and destroy their fabricated defense until they could not stand, believed me. She believed me because I did not lie to her…and before this day, that had been the truth. Before this day, I had been one of two who had never deceived my bard.

 _And now the second lies for the sake of the first_ , my thoughts were morbid. _Even though I know how vast and expansive Thedas is, I also know that the fates of souls are intertwined through life and time and that…and that Leliana and Salem are destined to meet once more. If both walk on the same plane, in the same world, then they will be reunited. Even death cannot stop a love from reaching out into the void, into the ache, and pulling from it memories of bliss…even death cannot stop love._

I closed my eyes and made a desperate endeavor not to think. I focused on the feel of Leliana's touch upon my skin, her kind, gentle hands cleansing my body of the blood and the dirt of this day. I desired nothing more than to feel everything wash away beneath her tenderness and caring. A touch that now belonged to me…but that I did not now deserve.

I did not know how Salem had walked away from me. I puzzled it over in my mind, turning and twisting all that I knew in every way, attempting to find some turn or tangle that made sense. None of them did, however. Faith was a lovely, necessary thing, but in spite of its beauty, faith was delicate, fragile…easily broken. However, it could be repaired. I had lost my faith and found it restored. I did not know if I could sacrifice all mortal happiness, all chance for my spirit and body to know contentment and completion, for a thing so often short-lived as faith.

 _But that is the reason Salem walked away and trusted me to care for, protect, and love Leliana. Perhaps there is more to her reasoning, more information that she could not share…or did not wish to. She told me that she remained unable to place a blade to her throat, to take her life in any fashion…what is holding her back from such a thing? A woman who asks to be killed does not avoid the thought of suicide…not even for the sake of honor. Therefore it stands to reason there must be something preventing her from taking her own life._

 _But what?_

"Your shoulders are in absolute knots." Leliana murmured, bringing me back into the present moment, into my present bliss. "How did you manage to do anything at all with these, darling?" she asked, her voice etched with the slightest tinge of worry. "You must hurt so very much."

I nodded and her hands rested on my shoulders, strong and sure fingers manipulating the muscles beneath them into relaxation. I sighed and pitched my head forward, luxuriating in the sheer comfort of being in her presence. Nothing that I could attain in this world would ever feel so right. Nothing that I could attain in this world would ever bring me this measure of joy.

My purest joy lay waiting for me in the land of the dead, just as Leliana's…once did. I wondered, in my exhaustion, if I would ever be angry that Salem Cousland lived again. I wondered if I would ever be bitter and cold and furious with the intricacies of the gods who had returned Leliana's great love…and left mine to languish, out of reach and away from me.

 _How could I be angry?_ I questioned myself. _Salem herself told me that she wishes_ _ **nothing**_ _more than to be with Leliana…then she walked away. She walked away and thanked me for loving the other half of her own soul. How could I even let the thought of anger enter my mind after witnessing that...that level of self-sacrificial madness?_

Leliana's heavenly ministrations continued until all of the tension had washed out of my body. I was clean and sore and desperate for human comfort, touch, and connection. I rose from the bath and Leliana, always ready, wrapped me in a towel. As I dried myself off, I watched my lover shed her clothing. She bared her back to me, no longer self-conscious about the scars that marred, marked, and made her.

My throat tightened in great pain as I remembered the scars that decorated the body of Salem Cousland. Scars that only one had been able to cherish. Scars that only one did not turn from. Eyes that but a single person could look into and see past the scars and the reminders that gaze scorched with and see the _love_ and the _strength_ that defined the woman herself. I walked to the bed, knowing that I would have the comfort of sharing it with another warm body and loving heart; that Leliana and I both accepted and adored the other's scars…also knowing that Salem Cousland slept alone.

Leliana finished undressing and joined me at the bed. We slipped beneath the covers together, and our bodies fit so well against each other, because we had learned how to align them. We had learned how to love each other. But it was not instinctual for either of us. It did not have that sense of perfection that marked the bond of soul to soul. But it was love, and that was enough.

I held my bard against me, breathing in the scent of her hair, placing light, affectionate kisses along the shell of her ear. I did not know how to speak, for I feared that I would betray the secret I had sworn to keep; the lie I had sworn to tell. I wanted to do nothing more than sleep beside the woman I loved, but it appeared that rest was not to be, for she spoke the question I did not wish her to ask.

"You seem troubled, Kat." Leliana murmured, using the shortened version of my name, something that she did so rarely, but a thing that was so distinct, so _her_ that I adored it. "Is the man's death weighing on your mind?"

"Yes." I did not wish to say more, but I knew that she would ask.

"I have seen you lose a duel with death." My bard mused. "Always you were sorrowful, but never were you this silent, nor this burdened. Why is his death different?"

 _Because it was_ _ **Salem**_ _. Because even though she has died and you and I love one another, she harbors no bitterness towards you, loves you still enough to_ _ **bleed**_ _for you, and yet…yet she does not demand that you recognize her sacrifice. Instead she asks me to lie._

"I am shamed by this loss." I answered her question. "He was…a complete enigma. An unbelievable man who was willing to give his life for yours. A man who has now lost all that he loved and…and in so doing, gave you back to me. It should be no wonder that I am shamed by his loss, as well as humbled by his honor…his measure and comprehension of love without self."

Leliana nodded and I knew that she _understood_ as much as I would allow her to understand. "I, too, am humbled." She whispered. "Humbled to know that a life was given for mine this day."

 _It was so much_ _ **more,**_ _Leliana. So much_ _ **more**_ _than a simple life. The woman who saved you abandoned every dream, ripped apart her own heart, placed it into the dust, and smeared it into the earth with the sole of her boot. Then she…she walked away, not with words of anger or grief upon her lips, but words of_ _ **forgiveness**_ _._

"But I am glad." The words tangled in my throat, but I needed to speak them, for I needed to rinse the taste of the lie from my mouth by giving her what truth I could. "I am glad because I am here, lying next to you, listening to you breathe, speaking of everything and nothing. I wished nothing more than to save his life but I am so very, _very_ beyond thankful that he gave it."

Leliana rolled over, wrapped her arm about my waist and pulled me closer. We rested our heads on the same pillow, breathing the same air. She reached up, tucked my hair behind my ear, and then moved forward, capturing my lips in a delicate kiss. With the pressure of her lips and the taste of her, I came undone, body and soul. I fought back tears as Leliana pulled away, wearing a soft, gentle smile.

"I love you." She whispered, a sacred declaration in the dark of night, in a warm bed, in a place that we did not call home.

"I love you too." I replied, meaning each and every word ten-thousand times more than I ever had before.

My bard, my comfort, my Leliana turned back over, molding her body to mine once again, resting in the shelter of my arms. Her eyes closed and in mere moments I felt her body relax in slumber. Then, only then, did I let my tears fall. I choked down the wretched sobs that jerked in my gut and in my chest. I cried for the happiness that I had stolen from another more deserving…at _their_ behest.

I wept for lie I had told but…but even more than that, I grieved for the woman who had sundered her own heart, who had broken her own soul yet further and in so doing, kept me whole. My tears were a poor offering to the gods, but with each one that fell I begged the heavens, the hells, the gods, and the spirits to cast their eyes upon a life lived in love and sacrifice…I begged them to show mercy.


	17. Chapter 17

**Merrill**

I shivered in the chill wind. I didn't know if it was the cold or the exhaustion that made me tremble as I walked the streets from Hightown into Lowtown. Fenris and Sebastian went home at sundown, leaving me, Varric, and Anders with Hawke. Aveline had left earlier than them, saying that she needed to track down a disease infested slattern. I had no idea what she was looking for, but with her saying it was disease infested, I assumed she meant she was looking for rodents. They were known for carrying disease, but I would have thought Aveline more concerned about Hawke than about rodents, no matter what diseases they carried.

I hadn't wanted to leave, but Anders insisted, with a very grumpy look on his face, that Hawke didn't need her friends hovering over her with worry. I should have told him that Hawke also didn't need her friend yelling at the person who had saved her life. He wouldn't have taken that well, though, not from me. He hated blood magic, but he was an abomination. I didn't think he had a right to lecture me, but he did so anyway…though not around Hawke and Isabela. They kept me safe…something I would not feel tonight until I locked my door behind me.

Varric offered to walk me home, but I could see that he didn't want to leave Hawke. I couldn't ask him to, either. She was still very unwell, in spite of everything that Anders and the kind physician had done for her. She had awakened for a brief moment, but had not been lucid. Her eyes, hazed with pain and fever, had darted about the room, her cracking voice and rasping throat muttering Isabela's name. It made my heart break, and for the first time, I felt a little angry at the pirate captain. She should have…she should have been there, by Hawke's bedside.

I felt a bit lost without the people who had kept me safe since leaving my clan. Hawke and 'Bela had attached themselves to me, and for a time I had fancied the both of them a great deal. But the pirate and the champion soon had eyes only for each other. I wanted another's eyes to glow when they looked at me in the same way that Micah's lit up when she saw Isabela…even though 'Bela hurt Micah…a great deal. I'd wondered why Micah endured it, but I did not have to wonder that anymore. There was someone in my life who I would let hurt me…just to be with them for a little while.

I frowned as I got closer to the alienage. The torchlights near the Vhenadahl were always what beckoned me home, but they were faint and flickering, difficult to see because of the throng of people gathered around them. I heard loud voices and a harsh scream and I slipped into the shadows, needing to know what was happening, but also staying hidden so that I did not get drawn into conflict and be made unable to defend myself.

"You bloody knife-ears owe us." I saw a human man, easy to pick out in the crowd, for he stood head and shoulders above every one of the elves. "The qunari razed the damn city and not a single one of you lost your fucking insignificant lives. We say that's worth a bit of gratitude, don't you think?"

I narrowed my eyes in the dark, remembering where I had seen this man before. Hawke had walked me home from the Hanged Man one night and we'd been jumped by one of the many gangs in Kirkwall. The man I saw now I had seen then; he was the only one who escaped Hawke's blade and my spells that night. Now he stood here, exploiting the elves of the alienage once again. It was not enough that they shook down the elves for gold we did not have, for a fallacious protection fee, but now they believed we owed them more. Our homes had burned too. Our livelihoods had been destroyed as well. We should not have to put up with this.

 _There are five of them,_ I frowned, attempting to see how I might alter this situation. _But there are too many innocents near them. It will not be safe to use my magic here, and yet I cannot bear to see my people exploited further. Even though they are not Dalish, we are all still of the People. Our blood all comes from Arlathan._

The alienage Elder stood as tall as his stooped form would allow him. "You did nothing for us, and you will receive nothing from us. We, too, have suffered losses, proving the idiocy of your claims."

The human backhanded him and I clenched my fists, hating that I could think of nothing that would hurt the bandits alone. I could focus the magic of the elements on a single person, or an entire area, but I could not take out the five at once without harming my people.

"Do not dare mock your betters, elven dog!" the human roared. "Now pay us with gold or pay us with blood."

Unable to hear more, unable to merely sit and watch, I left the safety of the shadows, staff in hand, preparing to do what I had to in order to protect my people…even though I knew that many of them would despise me for it, as had my clan. I knew there was a possibility that they would turn me over to the templars. I did not care. This would not stand.

"Get out." a low, calm voice whipped through the night, drawing the human's attention. I recognized the voice and my heart calmed. We would be safe now, I knew it.

"Andraste's holy tits!" the human roared. "When did the elves grow spines?"

"I am no elf." the voice moved into the light of the torches and I gasped. "And the Elder spoke true. They will not pay gold for services not rendered. You will not extort the innocent, not so long as I'm standing here."

The gang leader scoffed. "You don't look like you'll be standing much longer." he mocked her, and his fellows roared.

The woman, my protector, said nothing further. In a lightning move, she whipped her twin swords from the scabbards on her back. The elves scattered and the gang leader reached for his sword but before he could draw his blade his intestines were spilling out of his stomach. He fell to the ground and those he had with him rushed to avenge his life.

The woman's blades flashed through the night and I heard more cries…this time the cries of the wounded and the dying. I reached out and engulfed one of the gang's members in flames. He shrieked and ran off into the night. I froze another in place just as a blade sliced through his neck. Blood fountained out onto the earth and the night grew quiet.

I turned to look at my friend and found her on her knees, her hands clenched around the hilts of her swords, which she used to prop herself up. In the torchlight, I could see the horrific bloodstain on her shirt, and she had lost the mask that she always wore when she left my home. I ran to her as the alienage elves emerged from their hiding places and began to speak to each other in hushed tones, while several moved to help the injured Keeper. Not a single one thanked the shemlen who had saved them.

"Salem?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her. "Salem, were you hurt?"

She did not look up, but nodded an affirmative, and told me all that I needed to know. I threaded my body around hers, wrapping an arm around her waist, feeling a thick pad of bandaging against my hand.

"Let me take you inside." I offered, biting my lip as I helped her to her feet.

She took as much of her weight as she could bear onto her own feet, but she was still quite heavy as we walked the short distance to my home. I was glad for the excuse to vanish while others sorted through the chaos outside. I kicked the door shut behind me and dropped my staff, guiding Salem to my bed instead of to the bedroll beside the fire, where she slept. The warrior all but collapsed and I knelt down, wanting to help, but having no manner of idea what to do.

She looked up and her pale lips wore the hint of a smile. "Thank you, Merrill."


	18. Chapter 18

**Salem**

I hurt. I hurt like fury and damnation but, even though pain gnawed at me, I could not help but smile into the wide green eyes filled with concern and compassion. My friend looked troubled, tired, and wan. I did not want her to worry about me, even though I knew that she would.

"What can I do?" she asked, her hand resting on my knee, her eyes searching mine, for though she knew that her own personal hell would be relived in my gaze, she met it without trembling.

"Would you mind helping me with my boots?" I asked, and before I had finished speaking her deft hands were tugging at the laces.

I sighed in relief as she removed the heavy leather and set it aside. She lifted one of my boots and stared at the blood spatters on it, some fresh from the worthless wastes of breath I had just killed, others from earlier in the day. The day I had spent both bleeding and shedding blood. I would not remember those I had slain. I would remember...I _would_ remember...I closed my eyes and relived that moment of purest bliss.

 _The scent of sweat and blood and Andraste's Grace, overpowering and exquisite. The sharp shred and punch of arrows piercing my flesh juxtaposed against the warmth and weight of her in my arms. I heard her speak. I felt her skin. I bled so that she did not, and I would spend the entirety of my life with my flesh torn open in order to spare her pain._

I barely registered the sound of Merrill bustling about the small space that she called home, that she allowed me to share with her. I closed my eyes, whispering a prayer to the Maker to watch over Leliana, the bard no longer mine, the woman of faith, the Maker's new chosen voice in Thedas. She had kept her promise and believed the words I had written her long ago, the night before I went to my Calling. She had chosen to open her heart once more to love, and I could not…I could not have been happier or more devastated by that knowledge.

I looked toward my bedroll, but I had no desire to sleep tonight. I would dream of beautiful things and wake knowing that they belonged to another. Even in the brief closing of my eyes I could see it with a clarity that tore and sliced at my soul. Leliana and the woman that she now loved, the physician Kathyra. The thoughts of them together hurt worse than the wounds in my body, but…but Leliana was _happy_. That meant everything. That _was_ everything.

The sound of shattering clay brought me out of my reverie. Merrill knelt on the ground, muttering Dalish curses, picking up pieces of a broken cup and casting them into the fire. When she finished, she propped her hands on her knees as if to stand, but she abandoned the movement, slumping forward instead, her head hanging low. I saw the tell-tale clench and release of her shoulders and knew that my friend wept.

I gritted my teeth and dragged myself to my feet, feeling the simultaneous throb of my shoulder and my side. I shoved it aside, for physical pain did not matter when one that I cared for grieved. I walked to Merrill, my steps halting and stilted. I clenched my hands into fists, biting back the pain as I knelt beside her and rested my hand on her shoulder. She tilted her head to look at me and tears shone in her deep green eyes and dripped from the point of her aquiline nose.

"Why do you weep?" I asked, seeing the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the pallor of her skin, the way her lips trembled with her sorrow and her worry.

"I'm…I am afraid." she confessed. "Afraid that it will never end."

"The extortion of your people?" I asked, keeping my tone gentle, for I knew how terrible it must have been for her to decide between keeping herself safe or helping her people.

 _She made the difficult choice. I saw her moving from the shadows before I even spoke. She is still somewhat a stranger to life outside her clan, but she is brave and kind and good._

Merrill shook her head, her raven hair shining in the firelight. "No…I mean…yes…a little. I…too many people…people I care about…are bleeding. I don't want them to bleed anymore, Salem. I don't want them to hurt. I don't want you to hurt."

I could sense that more emotion than she showed lay behind the words she spoke. Merrill was one who felt a great deal, but found speaking of those emotions difficult. I knew where she stood. I had stood there once before, until my heart had been opened by deft, beautiful, callused fingertips. Hands that…hands that now caressed another, lips that kissed another's, a body that rested alongside the form of a strong, beautiful healer. Leliana lay with a woman who saved life. I had blood on my hands. I would always have blood on my hands.

"I do not hurt, Merrill." I whispered the lie I always told to comfort.

Leliana had always seen through that lie to the truth of my mind, my heart, and my body. But Merrill would not, because she needed to believe the lie. She needed a strength to lean against and, weak as I was, I could still be that strength for her. I could be a friend to her in this moment as she had been to me since the strange day that brought us together.

Merrill shivered in spite of the warmth from the fire. "Your shirt is soaked in blood." she murmured. "I could feel the bandaging underneath your clothes."

"A minor scrape." I captured her delicate chin in my fingers and turned her eyes to mine. "I promise you that I am fine. You have been a true friend, and I can see that you are troubled. Please, unburden yourself. I am willing to listen and help, if I may."

Her lips trembled and her eyes darted from mine to the fire and back. In a rush of desperation-soaked movement, she threw herself in my embrace and clung to me as though I were shelter from a storm. Her fingers clawed into the wound on my shoulder and I gritted my teeth, attempting to breathe through the fresh agony. I strained to focus on something else, anything other than the pain of my body, and found my distraction in Merrill's shuddering, sobbing form.

 _She is so very small,_ I thought as I wrapped my arms around her in what I hoped would be a comforting embrace. _So very fragile and frail and yet she carries so many burdens and worries. The way I hold her now…I once held Leliana in this manner, during the Blight, when the thunder roared. She stole into my tent, shuddering and terrified. During the fortnight she was imprisoned and tortured, a storm had raged above Val Royeaux. The gentle roll of thunder and the crack of lightning did nothing but remind her of the horrors she endured at the hands of cruel men._

"It's Hawke." Merrill whispered, her voice ragged from her tears. "She fought the Arishok and he…he all but killed her…I could not do anything and she was in so much pain…I wanted to help but I was useless." Merrill buried her head beneath my chin and I rubbed my hand up and down her back in hopes to soothe her. "Anders ran like a coward and Aveline had to search for him. We would have lost Micah if it hadn't been for the kindness of a stranger. She asked me if I could heal and I felt so useless…then Anders came in and he shouted at her because Hawke would have scars. He shouldn't have shouted; he had no right to shout…Isabela is nowhere to be found and I am afraid for Hawke. 'Bela has hurt her so much and Hawke is already so ill. If 'Bela isn't there Micah might never wake up and I need her to wake up, Salem…we need her to wake up."

I bristled at the mention of Anders. There were many people that I avoided in the city of Kirkwall, and he was almost chief among them. He had sworn to kill me, should we meet again. He would never have had the courage or the strength when he was simply a Grey Warden mage, but he had merged himself with a spirit. It would be difficult to fight him, and I did not wish to tempt the monster he had become. However, with Merrill sobbing in my arms, I wanted nothing more than to rip out Anders' tongue so that he could not spit venomous words against an innocent, kind spirit ever again.

"Hawke will pull through." I promised the elf. "And I am sorry that Anders upset you. He will someday find what true justice is, I swear it."

Merrill shook her head up and down against my chest as she allowed me to cradle her like a child. "He has a spirit of justice within him." she murmured. "But he is so hateful and vengeful that I begin...I am beginning to feel frightened by him."

"I know." I assured her. "Your fear of him is not cowardice, but intuition. Keep that guard about your heart, for it will preserve your life, and the lives of those you love."

Merrill nodded again, and we fell silent for a little while. Sweat broke out on my forehead from the pain of sitting like this, of holding the weight of another, even one so small as Merrill. I would not break, however. I would not give into the pain, nor let it rule me, nor dictate the manner of comfort I was able to offer. Pain had never stopped me before my death. It would not stop me in my new life.

"He should not have shouted at Kathyra." Merrill broke the silence and pushed a blade through my heart.

 _Kathyra…again._ I thought. _Not only did she save my life, but she kept Hawke alive as well. There is a darker heart in me that wishes to despise her for her goodness; that loathes her for her ability to save lives. She mends the wounds caused by the sword and I wield the sword that creates the wound. Maker, help me now. Help me understand what I fear I shall never comprehend. I spoke the truth when I gave her my forgiveness, but that does not ease the horrific ache inside my chest, a gaping chasm where another piece of my heart should lie. But that piece is one I have given to another...and it will always belong to her. Leliana, my last love._

"I have never seen someone without magic mend so large an injury." Merrill continued and I steeled my heart, knowing that she needed to speak, needed to voice her thoughts in order to bleed clean the wounds dealt to her psyche this day.

"It sounds as if the gods have gifted her." I spoke past my swollen throat, birthing the words with great difficulty.

"They must have." Merrill agreed, pulled away, and looked me in the eye. I could see the shudder of apprehension rippling through her as she met my gaze, but she did not look away. "You…you are so kind to me, Salem. Even the elves here worship the Maker, believing all other gods are false. You…you allow the belief in…in other gods...without condemning me."

I knew the smile that curved my lips was filled with sorrow. "Because I know that they exist." I murmured. "And they bestow gifts upon their children." I lifted Merrill's small, delicate hand. "They grant the gift of magic." I whispered. "The gift of life." I thought of Kathyra. "The gift of death." I thought of myself.

Merrill moved the hand that I held, wrapping her slender fingers about my wrist and, with her other hand, tracing the deep, blue, spiderwebbing scars that decorated the flesh. In the center of my palm lay a large, white scar from where a knife had pinned my hand to the floor of a fetid dungeon. The elf seemed mesmerized by the deformation and I allowed her the exploration, ignoring as best I could the pain that ate deeper into my bones with every moment.

I knew that I needed to rest but I had no wish to do so…for the nightmares would come again. Nightmares of a dragon piercing paradise, running me through with its talons, bringing me back into a world that had no need of me any longer. I had championed this world once, but I had been brought back to shatter the faith of a prophet…the prophet who once was my wife. The prophet who would speak a message of love, a message I believed in and would never jeopardize.

"You have a great gift." Merrill murmured as she examined my hand. "I can see it in the lines of your hands. Keeper Marethari said that you could see a person's life and purpose in the palm of their hand. It is the place...it is the place where people carry their gifts."

"Oh?" I asked, grateful for the diversion, wanting to speak no more of Kathyra, to think no more about the woman who loved Leliana…who made her life as I wanted it to be. _Happy_. "What do I carry in my hands, Merrill?"

She rubbed her thumb along the thick, smooth, white scar in the center of my palm. "Nothing." she answered, and my heart sank deeper into the mire of grief. "But that is…that is good, Salem."

"I do not see how." I muttered, dark.

"Hands that hold nothing are hands that love." Merrill told me, a note of awe in her voice. "For they can be filled with whatever gift needs be given at the very moment that another may require it. The Dalish believe that empty hands are the greatest gift…they belong to those who save and those who protect. This is…this is very true of you."

I wanted to believe her, but I did not know if I dared do so. I whispered my thanks and Merrill fell silent. I stared into the fire, looking down when I heard the elf's soft, light snores. In the peace of slumber, she looked so very young, innocent and carefree of the trials and damnations of the world. I thought of her words to me, of my empty, gift-less hands.

 _These empty hands once held the most precious heart in all of Thedas. I miss you, Leliana. I miss you so very, very much. But I am…I am grateful that tonight, you rest with one who loves you, one whose hands are full. Full with the gift of healing and the gift of life. I wish the both of you nothing but blessings._

Merrill murmured in her sleep, and I caught the name "Hawke" in her mutters. I pursed my lips and steeled myself for what I needed to do next. Cradling her small body close, I forced myself to my feet. My wounds _screamed_ as I placed too much stress upon them, but I did not care. Merrill had been so kind to me. I would be kind in return.

I carried her the few steps to her bed, and placed her on the mattress with great care. Sweat dripped off of my face, staining the covers that I pulled over Merrill's body. I cradled my right arm against my chest and pressed my left hand to the wound in my right side. I stumbled back towards the fire and felt blood soak into my bandages. I might have torn a stitch, but that did not matter. The wound would still heal, even if it did leave an uglier scar.

I leaned against the wall, pressing my back against it and sliding down increment by increment until I rested in a sitting position. My body cried out in anguish but I breathed through it until the raging flames cooled to smoldering embers. I stared into the fire, my eyelids fluttering. I did not want to sleep. I did not want to dream of the woman I had held in my arms for a moment of absolute perfection. I did not want to dream of my beloved wife, now no longer mine.

So I reached out for my parchment and ink. I had allowed Merrill to bleed clean the wounds inside her mind. I would attempt to do the same with my quill.


	19. Chapter 19

**Salem**

 _Do you know, dear heart, that there are worlds within worlds? We have been schooled into believing that there are a finite number of worlds, but I no longer believe that. I wonder if you remember my telling you of how it felt when I walked through the trial of flames in the temple of the Sacred Ashes. Those fires spoke to me and burned me alive, breaking through all that I was made of and splitting my soul apart to find its true worth. My love of you was the sole thing within me that divine power found worthy. My love of you still is the sole thing within me that is good and pure and true._

 _I ask if you remember that tale in hopes to convey what it felt like to step through the eluvian. I followed Morrigan into the mirror, and when I stepped through the glass that was not glass, I felt every part of me particulate and split into nothingness. For the briefest of moment I could taste the sound of my breathing, hear the color of the black behind my closed eyes, and see the odor of the air around me. All of me blurred and faded and swirled until it seemed as though I could see the soul at my center._

 _But that beautiful, transcendent moment of synesthetic paradise lasted for but a blink. The very force that splintered me apart slammed me back together. I could feel the bones of my skeleton fusing together, sense every nerve burning through my body, hear the sound of my hair once again finding its roots and my scars fissuring back into the landscape of my skin. I fell to the ground and I screamed out in pain, for I felt as though my blood had turned into venom, my muscles into strikes of lightning, and my bones into splintered wood. There are no words to properly describe the agony I endured. I cursed my existence, the day of my birth, the Maker and all other gods whose names I could recall._

 _Morrigan knelt before me. I know you recall how much disdain and spite could live in her amber gaze…but the eyes that I looked into possessed that malevolence and disgust tenfold. She told me that I had somehow come to the Crossroads, but that I should not, by any of the laws of magic, have been able to follow her through the eluvian. I remembered then words you said to me so long ago. Words that the Maker herself had told you of me. That I had stepped outside the boundaries of fate. I wish that I could believe that I still possessed the Maker's blessing…but the Maker allowed me to die. She gave us our time to live together and cherish our love, then allowed my Calling to lead me into the Deep Roads and into my second death._

 _I bear no love for the god that brought me back. In fact, much like her daughter, I despise the entity that believed I should live again. The woman we thought could shift into a dragon, when, in truth, I now believe she is a dragon who can take the form of a mortal. Flemeth. Her very name causes my lip to curl upwards and my hands to clench in anger. I despise what she has done, what she has made me, and the purpose for which she had brought me back. I tried to convey all of this to Morrigan, to let her know that I believed her claim, but the pain that owned me would not allow me to speak._

 _The words that Morrigan said then chilled me to the bone. She said that I was to be left at the Crossroads, unable to use the eluvian to travel, unable to follow her to where she would venture. She reminded me, with acid in her tone, that I had sworn to slay her and her abomination of a child if I should see them again. A strange expression took over her countenance, and for a moment I saw in Morrigan's eyes the same fierce love that had lived in my mother's gaze. I struggled to push myself up, to call after her, but all my strength had deserted me and I still could not speak._

 _I watched Morrigan walk to another eluvian and disappear through the shimmering glass. She left me in a place that is not a place, that exists between the Golden City, the Black City, the Fade, the Veil, and the world that we know and walk in. There is no sound in that place, and no light. It is all silence and grey...a place in which the mind can go mad. I let the fog roll over me and I lay there, attempting to gather strength that I did not have, for I had been broken by the mirror's magic._

 _My dearest Leliana, I believe that, for a moment, I did go mad. I knew not how long I lay in the fog, trying again and again to crawl towards the shimmering mirrors and leave this place, but I could only drag myself a step at a time before collapsing once again, struggling to fill the lungs I began to believe I did not have. I lay on my back, staring into the nothingness that might have been a sky, or another earth all together. I wanted to pray, but did not believe that I would be heard. So I did what I have always done when I am in pain and in dire need of salvation from it._

 _I thought of you, dear heart. I thought of us, the joys we had shared, the sorrows we had endured, the moments we spend laughing until tears filled our eyes. The night that you coerced me into intoxication and then demanded that I dance with you around the fire. The night you offered me your body and I spent a blissful night, content with simply holding you against me, pressing light kisses to the top of your shoulders and sharing your breath. I remembered the feel of your hand within mine, the gentle press of your fingers as we walked together through the fields. I recalled the complete satiation that was the weight of your head against my breast, with the cool rush of your breath flowing over my most sensitive places and bringing them to life. I closed my eyes and dreamed while awake._

 _I dreamed of the fire of your lips and tongue caressing me, making my heart trip over itself as you guided me towards ecstasy. My hands began to tremble as I brought to my mind the feel of your inner walls surrounding my fingers, clenching and unclenching in the spasm of pure release. I wanted nothing more than to hear your beautiful voice raised in ecstasy, you crying my name and breaking the silence. But those dreams faded all too soon. They faded into the tears that spilled from my eyes as I lay between the worlds, as I realized that I might never know that joy again; that I had been stranded here and might die yet again, leaving Flemeth free to run amok in the world. I did not and do not want her on the face of Thedas any longer, Leliana. She is a threat, and I tremble at the thought that you may be forced to confront her again. I pray that the Maker will keep you safe from such an eventuality...and even if she will not, I will do all that I can to see that you are protected.  
_

 _In spite of my thoughts of sedition against the madwoman who returned me to life, the self-defined chaos god decided to torture me yet further. My eyes flew open when a pointed boot kicked me in the ribs. I looked up to see none other than the monstrous deity that had dragged me back from paradise. Flemeth stood over me, wearing a look of unadulterated loathing that made Morrigan's disdain appear to be a beam of pure elation. The Woman of Many Years berated and belittled me, then praised me for having been able to pass through the eluvian. She claimed that I remained full of pleasant surprises, but all I heard in her voice was joy at the fact that she had found new ways in which I could be used._

 _I struggled to get to my feet, but the fog continued to drag me down. It took all the strength that I possessed to drag myself to my knees. Sweat poured down my face and I fought for breath as Flemeth glared at me for the longest of moments, her eyes burning. After a moment of silence that felt like an eternity, she lifted me by the back of my shirt with ease, as though I weighed nothing. She dragged me through the fog and stopped before another eluvian. This mirror did not have the smooth, liquid sheen of the others. I could see fissures in the glass, places where it had been cracked._

 _Flemeth smiled, and the words that she spoke chilled me to the bone. She did not look at me, but I felt her words crawl across my skin, burrow into my ears, and bury themselves inside my mind, wriggling and gnawing away._

 _"I have chosen a reluctant champion, true. But mortal love is weak." then she did look at me, and I shivered at the glee and exultation in her gaze. "Let us see, Salem Cousland, how long you can withstand temptation."_

 _With her free hand, she touched the mirror and the cracks faded away. The mirror began to glow as the others beside it did, and Flemeth hummed low in her throat, a dulcet note of approval that terrified me. I waited for more cryptic statements, more taunting, more torment, but that did not happen. She threw me into the mirror, the pain and synesthesia struck, and I dissolved again._


	20. Chapter 20

**Merrill**

I woke to yellow sunlight pouring in through the window. It took a great deal of time for my eyes to open and acclimate to the light of morning, but at last they managed. My body felt made of aches when I stretched out, the discomfort bringing back memories of yesterday's terror. My heart fluttered in my chest like the wings of a frightened baby bird. I threw the covers off of me and sat bolt upright…then stopped, puzzled.

I did not remember entering my bed, nor drawing the covers over me. I closed my eyes against the sunlight and pinched the bridge of my nose, remembering everything that I could about last night…returning late, the decision to use magic before the alienage elves in hopes to save them, Salem's swords cutting down those of her own race to defend the elves…an unheard of thing in this city and in the majority of the world.

 _Salem…_ her name made my heart flutter, but in an entirely different manner than that of the fear that filled me upon waking. I had fallen asleep in the strength of her arms…she must have lifted me and tucked me into bed.

 _But her shirt was soaked with dried blood…_ I thought, frowning as I ran my teeth over my bottom lip.

I looked to the fire and saw that Salem had banked it so that it could be easily restarted should I require it. Her shirt lay near the hearth, neat and folded, but still dark with the stain of dried blood. Worried for her, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as my feet touched the floor. The exertion of yesterday made even the soles of my feet feel as though they had been bruised.

I made as little noise as possible as I knelt beside the bedroll. I did not wish to wake her, for Salem did not sleep as much as she should. I could always tell by the dark circles beneath her eyes that never faded; only deepened. She never complained of exhaustion, though, so I thought it best not to mention it. Instead, I quietly worried over her and cared for her as much as possible.

It had not been so long ago, perhaps four months, when I had been sitting before my fire, speaking with Hawke, telling her about the legends of my people and the stories of our gods. I told her of our father Elgar'nan and our mother Mythal, and of the god that I believed protected her: Andruil, blood and force, the goddess of the hunt. Hawke had smiled and asked questions and we talked long into the night of our families and our traditions, both of which were fading from our lives evermore each day.

* * *

 _Hawke leaves and I choose to remain awake, thinking of our conversation, staring at the eluvian that I still struggle to rebuild. I want to restore the history of my people, even if I know very little of it. I, who was once First to the Keeper, still knew so little. For others of my people, the lack of knowledge might lead to fear of what they did not know. For me, that lack of knowledge led to curiosity. I want to rebuild it, even though the mirror I sit before had killed Tamlen, one of my clan's hunters, and made another…a dear friend…so very ill that even Marethari's skill with healing could do nothing. I had watched Lyna waste away, and tears burn fresh in my eyes now as I remember whispering farewell and placing a final kiss on her frigid brow._

 _I reach out and touch the glass, wondering if I will ever find the key to unlocking its mysteries and magic. I trace the lines of the cracks, wincing when I feel a sharp edge slice my finger open. I watch, mystified as my blood spreads through the cracks, flowing upward and downward with an unnatural speed, binding the broken pieces together into a cohesive whole. The eluvian takes on a glowing, crimson sheen; the glass appears to liquefy and begins to ripple like water in an earthquake. I scrabble backwards against the wall, afraid of what might happen, for I know only that the eluvian is a portal. I do not know where it leads._

 _A low hum seems to pour out of the eluvian and the sound makes the floor tremble. I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, trying to protect myself. My staff is across the room, and floor is shaking with greater violence. I want to close my eyes but I cannot look away from the eluvian. Its liquid surface is undulating and pulsing; the edges begin to glow with a sickly light and I gasp as a form is forced through the liquid glass and spat out on the floor. The body curls into itself, uttering the most wretched scream I have ever heard._

 _The scream does not end and I clap my hands over my ears, huddling into myself, watching as the eluvian changes yet again. The ripples stop, the crimson-liquid sheen fades, the cracks are restored and it returns to the state of being nothing more than a broken mirror. However, I saw a body come through it. I saw the portal opened, and had no concept of how it happened. I put all of those thoughts aside because that wretched scream is still blistering my ears to the point where_ _ **I**_ _am in pain. However, I know my own hurt is not as severe as the pain of the woman on my floor who is holding her head and sobbing in inarticulate wails._

 _As I move closer, she grows more quiet; the sobbing vanishes into short gasps and slight moans. Her body is trembling and when I touch her hand it is cold as ice. I do not know where she has come from, but I wish to know. I wish to know why the eluvian repaired itself and why she fell out of it onto my floor. I rush to my bed and bring a blanket, wrapping her in it and sending a blast of fire into the wood stacked in the hearth._

 _I kneel down beside her and her eyelids flutter open. My lips part in shock as I witness the most beautiful and tortured blue I have ever seen. Micah Hawke has blue eyes, and they dance and shine and are lovely to look upon. They hold an empathy for those who know pain and loss, and a fierce fire in defense of the helpless and downtrodden. I once fell and still fall, on occasion, into Micah Hawke's blue eyes._

 _But I drown in this woman's. They are somehow as hot as fire and as cold as snow, and there is a torment in them that mesmerizes me. It is as though she pierces my mind and pulls forward all of my pain and all of my hurt, all of my memories of tragedy. In her eyes I see my beloved friend, Lyna Mahariel, taking her last breath as the fever and illness steals her life. I see the pain of Marethari renouncing me as her First. I am wrapped in every terrible thing that has happened to me, but I can also see_ _ **her**_ _pain, a sorrow so immense that I feel pity for this stranger who fell through the broken eluvian._

 _I reach out and take her hand, wanting to touch her, to know with my hands what my eyes tell me. That she is real. That she did indeed come from where the eluvian leads. Her eyes are chaotic, agonized stars, sparking with her labored breathing. She turns her head and I gasp, covering my mouth with my fingers when I see the notches of missing skin along the shell of her ears, and the vivid indigo and scarlet weal across her right cheek. It looks like scar tissue and I want to touch it, even though I do not know her name. Her lips part and I expect a tight, thin voice made of the suffering I see in her._

 _"_ _Ma halani_. _"_ _her voice is low, rough, and raspy as if from disuse. I find the sound lovely, but lovelier still to me is the sound of the Dalish language…even if she does speak words I do not wish to hear._

 _I have heard them before, when I sat vigil beside Lyna. In the depths of her fevered dreaming, she had looked at me, her eyes over-bright with agony and nightmares. She had whispered those words._

 _ **Ma halani. Help me. **_

_"_ _Ir abelas._ _" she speaks yet again, apologizing to me in my language, and in her eyes I see that she comprehends what my vallaslin means, and knows me for a Dalish elf._

 _"I…" I stutter, in awe of what is happening, wanting to delve into the mystery of it, and knowing that_ _ **this**_ _shemlen is at the mystery's heart. "…I speak the common tongue." I tell her. "Are you in pain? Can I do anything? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Injured?"_

 _She lies on the ground, bundled in a blanket, still trembling from traveling through the eluvian. Somehow, even in this state, she manages to make the shaking of her head seem like a noble gesture. I open my mouth to ask another question when her eyes roll back in her head and she loses consciousness. I do all that I can to make her comfortable, attempting to drag her to the fire, for her body is still freezing, but she is so very heavy even after I remove her swords and scabbards from her back._

 _I do manage to get her close enough for the heat of the flames to do some good for her. I want to be able to stay with her, but I had promised to meet Hawke and 'Bela at midday for an investigation of the mines. I leave water and food within reach and, because the temptation is too great, I reach out and run my fingertip along the notched shell of her ear, wondering what happened to her. It does not seem to be a natural deformity, and I need to know what made it. Fenris, Anders, and Aveline would reprimand me for leaving a stranger in my home, but I have to find out why and how she came through my damaged eluvian._

 _ **And why there are notches in her ears. This is important.**_

* * *

I pulled the blankets off of Salem and my eyes flared. She had discarded her shirt, but her entire torso and her right shoulder were wrapped in thick layers of bandaging. I bit my lip again when I noticed the large reddish-brown stain covering her right side. I wanted to strike myself. After the skirmish with the gang, Salem told me she had been hurt. I knew that she had been in pain, but I did not know the severity of her wounds.

As much as I was worried for Hawke, as much as I wanted to run to Hightown and be there to aid and help my friend, I owed it to Salem to help her as well. In the light of the sun I could see that her already fair skin was far too pale. I placed my hand on her forehead to check for a fever. I frowned at how cool and clammy she felt beneath my touch, but the bloodstain on her shirt and her bandages made it clear that she had lost a great deal of blood.

I would need to change the bandages and check her wounds for infection. And make her eat something. She did not eat enough. Or sleep enough. I needed to aid her in altering that, but first I had to make certain that she ate and drank. She needed water to help replenish the blood she had lost, and food to keep up her strength. Hawke would have Varric and Anders and Aveline hovering over her all day, tending to her needs. Salem had nothing and no one. She needed a friend, and I could be that friend.

I moved to her head and tapped lightly above her ear, having learned from experience that it was dangerous to wake her in easy reach of her hands. What sleep she did get was very, very troubled.

"Salem." I called her name, hoping that I did not wake her from a sweet dream. "Salem, wake up."


	21. Chapter 21

**Salem**

A soft, insistent voice and the lilting accent that marked it brought me into morning. I felt the tapping of Merrill's delicate fingers above my ear, the way that she found it best to wake me from slumber. During the Blight, I thought sleep an elusive luxury. Now, I looked back on those times and craved the rest I had known then. Chance and scheming saw me awakened from the eternal sleep, and now, when I closed my eyes, the dreams that came were far beyond the normal terrors found in the nightmares of the Fade.

Merrill knew me well enough to protect herself now, a lesson learned after the morning when she woke me and I bolted upright and laced my hands around her throat, squeezing until her pitiful gasping brought me once more into myself. She had worn a necklace of deep bruising for a fortnight, but had never reproached me for what I had done to her. I knew, however, that if Micah Hawke, Varric Tethras, or Isabela ever discovered that it had been me who harmed her, that I would be dragged through the street, then drawn and quartered. They loved the Dalish elf, and I understood why.

I held Merrill dear to me. She was a good woman and the fiercest of friends. Her naïveté and delight in new knowledge and skills reminded me of the innocence still in this world. It reminded me of the days, so very long ago, when I had been innocent. I would never forget looking into her wide, apprehensive, glittering green eyes after I had been shoved through the eluvian. I would never forget the slight little smile that quirked her lips when I begged for help in the language of the People. When I apologized for being an inconvenience to her…as I was now.

"Is all well?" I asked, propping myself up on my elbows and quickly falling back down onto my pillow as my body reminded me of the damage it had taken.

"For the moment." Merrill assured me as she stoked the banked fire back into a comfortable blaze. "Lie still, Salem." she ordered, the hardened edge of her lilting voice making me smile. "You should have told me last night how badly you were hurt."

I chuckled as her words returned memories to me both bitter and sweet. "You were exhausted _, ma fallon._ " I called her my friend. "Your friend Hawke had a brush with death after the qunari attacked the city, and I know you were and are worried for her. I can fend for myself if you wish to return to her."

Merrill narrowed her eyes at me as she rose from building the fire; she dusted off her clothing, walked to a basket, opened it, and withdrew a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese. She brought them near me and set them down, then rose and poured tepid water brought from the well yesterday morning into a cup. She set the cup down beside the bread and cheese and looked up, her eyes apologetic.

"It's poor fare, I'm afraid." she murmured, her voice the swift staccato belied her worry and her need to help. "But it is food and I am certain that you desperately need to eat." I reached for the bread and she slapped my hand away with a light touch, but the force of her hit jarred my injured shoulder.

I did not want to cry out; did not wish for Merrill to feel obligated to care for me when she had so much else weighing down her mind. Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper and salt and felt blood drain away from my face. I closed my eyes and breathed deep to cope with the pain, forcing my mind back into memories of pleasure to mitigate the twinging shocks of my wounds.

"You shouldn't be moving that arm." Merrill frowned, lifting the bread and tearing off a large piece, handing it to me.

Learning from my mistake, I extended my left hand and took the bread, biting into it with relish, eating my fill. I noticed with my peripheral vision that Merrill had moved away, but I did not pay attention to what she was doing, too busy eating and hoping it would quell the nausea beginning to tighten my throat from both blood loss and from eating nothing yesterday.

Merrill returned with a clatter of supplies and I looked down to see her store of herbs, fresh bandaging, and the various healing salves she kept at her home for reasons that she had at last trusted me enough to disclose. Well…in truth I had coerced the explanation from her.

"Merrill," I reached out to her with my left hand, attempting to stay her, "your concerns lie elsewhere. I will be fine."

The Dalish elf shook her head. "I won't split my focus by going to Hawke and worrying over you. It's best this way. Your bandages need changing. They're stained and filthy. Micah has many friends. You…" she trailed off, realizing that she had almost spoken a very painful truth.

With an inward wince, I looked to the elf, who had blushed to the tips of her ears with remorse and shame.

"It's all right." I said, keeping my tone low and reassuring. "It is a fool who allows their spirit to be wounded by the truth, no matter how unpleasant it may be. Those who would be my friends do not know that I live, and in you alone can I confide. In you alone do I have a friend."

Her pale skin flushed further, she lowered her gaze and fumbled around with the supplies she had brought. I noticed that her fingers trembled as she opened a jar of an astringent smelling salve. Her sleeve slid upward, revealing the hashmarks of scarring, young and old. Once, in my presence, she had covered them, but she no longer felt the need to do so. I felt grateful that she trusted me that much.

"Do you think you can sit up long enough for me to remove the bandaging around your waist, or should I just cut through it?" she asked, looking up from her work.

"I'll manage." I offered her a smile and pushed myself up with my left hand, finding it an awkward but manageable maneuver.

I sat up and gritted my teeth against the pain splitting through my side and gnawing at my shoulder. I could not show that pain, not to Merrill, or her kind hands would shake with the fear that she was the one causing the discomfort. I breathed deep and slow as the elven mage unwrapped the bandaging around my waist. The stabbing pain became greater and greater as layer by layer was removed. I propped myself up on my left hand and threw my head back, keeping the rhythm of my breath steady. Before Merrill removed the last layer of bandaging, which I knew would be agonizing, for it was stuck to the wound with dried blood, I threw my mind into a distracting memory.

* * *

 _Rain pounds outside, bringing with it peace and a refreshing scent. The city of Kirkwall reeks to the heights of heaven, and rain always provides brief respite from the stench of the City of Chains. I rise from my bedroll and walk to the window, wondering if Merrill chose to stay the night at the Hawke estate. She does so at times, when their adventuring leads to a long day and an exhausted evening. Still, I worry. There is something in the air that does not feel at all right._

 _Lightning flashes and the door slams open. I step back from the window and see Merrill making her way towards the bureau. She opens its door and her hands visibly tremble. She begins rustling through the contents of the bureau and I become more alarmed as she removes small jars and rolls of bandaging. Every now and again, when the rain quiets, I hear a sharp intake of breath, a cadence that indicates pain, and no small amount of it._

 _"Merrill, what is wrong?" I ask, and she jumps back from the bureau, a muffled squeak of shock escaping her lips, and everything she holds falling to the floor._

 _I move forward, kneel down, and pick up the bandages and vials, smelling things quite similar to the tinctures and salves that Wynne often made beside the campfire during the Blight. I look up to see Merrill. She is cradling her left arm to her chest and her eyes are luminescent in the dark._

 _"Merrill, are you hurt?" I ask, and she shakes her head, sending water droplets everywhere._

 _"It's nothing." she assures me, but I do not believe her, and remain crouched, staring at her until she buckles. "It's nothing to worry over." she clarifies. "I can patch myself up."_

 _ **What?**_ _I wonder, because I remember her telling me that Anders, the bastard, would be accompanying her and Hawke. I had no respect or love for the mage and the spirit within him that had threatened to end my life, but I knew he could heal. And well._ _ **Why would he not help Merrill? How dare he leave her with an open wound to walk home in the rain! I do not care how light of an injury it is, that is criminal!**_

 _"Sit by the fire." I tell her. "I've kept it burning for heat."_

 _"Salem, I'm fine, truly." she argues with me in a manner that she has not argued before._

 _She hides her wound from hands she needs have no fear of; the mage she traveled with did not heal her, and she did not stay with her friend on a night that she normally would have. Something is wrong and I_ _ **will**_ _know what it is. I may not have much to offer any longer, but I can at least protect the one person in this city who has shown me kindness and trust._

 _I get to my feet and walk to the hearth, holding the supplies that she needs. "Come." I order in the voice I used when I knew the title of arlessa and Warden Commander._

 _As I thought she might, Merrill heeds the edge of warning in my voice and moves to the fire with meekness and a grace I have seen possessed only by the Dalish people. Her lips are trembling and I see droplets of rain clinging to her eyelashes. I walk to my bedroll and pull the thick, warm blanket off of it and wrap it about Merrill's shoulders, tucking it around her. She sinks down beside the roaring fire, breathing a sigh of relief as the heat begins to enfold her._

 _I sit down before her and extend my hands. "Please, let me see the wound." I entreat, but she shakes her head once again._

 _"I can manage." she murmurs._

 _"I know you can manage, but I am worried for you." I tell her. "You have never been so careful to conceal an injury before. What makes this one different? Why did Anders not heal it?"_

 _"He won't heal this sort of wound." she refuses to look at me. "He shouted at me over it, but it wasn't my fault. We weren't winning and Hawke was…Hawke was pinned down, the Tal Vashoth were throwing their horrible javelins and hemming us in, then there…then there was a qunari mage and he looked so in pain and so angry but his magic was so…" a violent shudder wracks her lithe body and she moves closer to the fire, "…so strong. Anders cannot craft an offensive spell to save his life, and mine were not doing enough so I…I took my knife and I…"_

 _ **Ah. Now I understand her reticence to speak. She has used blood magic…but she is not horrified by the fact that she ventured to that place; that she accessed that power. This means that she must have done this before. I have met a maleficar and listened to his story. I have killed other maleficar who attacked me on sight. There are two types of mages who turn to the power in their blood and they are either creatures of darkness or creatures of desperation. Knowing of Merrill what I do, she must be one of the latter.**_

 _"Please, Merrill." I ask yet again. "Let me see the wound."_

 _Slow, tremulous, she extends her left arm. I wince at the gash in the skin and at the other scars that I see on her flesh, legends of the times she has called on the power of her blood. It is no wonder to me now that her clan expelled her. While the Dalish do not fear magic or treat it the way the humans of Thedas or the qunari, they do not condone the use of blood magic any more than the other races. Merrill has been given a gentler punishment for her supposed crime._

 _"I told you it wasn't bad." she insists, but still winces when I begin to clean the wound with water. "I mean…it is bad for the reason it is there…it is bad because…because blood magic is bad…"_

 _"Is this what Anders shouted at you?" I ask, watching her nod, seeing the uncertainty in her luminescent gaze._

 _"Y…yes." she admits after a moment. "He shouted at me and then Hawke shouted at him and I told them not to worry that I didn't need…that I didn't need healing. Anders said that I had better damn well not…that I could have lost control and become an abomination and killed us all but I…but it's not like that, Salem…I don't think it's like...by the Creators, you must despise me."_

 _I opened the jar of salve and began rubbing the herb paste into the wound to help it close and stave off infection. I catch Merrill's eyes as I work and she looks like a woman poised on the edge of giving into despair. She believes that I will hate her, that I will revile her as most humans do._

 _"For what reason did you spill this blood, Merrill?" I question her and her eyebrows lift in surprise that my words were not full of loathing and condemnation._

 _"To…to save Hawke. And Anders. And Varric." she answers._

 _I finish with the salve and begin to wrap her arm with the linen bandages, speaking as I do so. "Then you shed this blood in the defense of others." I tell her what I believe is truth. "There is power in blood, even for those of us who have no magic. If we bleed solely for ourselves, then the power will corrupt us as power always does. But if you shed that blood for others, for their defense, for their protection, to save_ _ **their**_ _lives, with barely a thought of your own…that manner of power cannot be corrupted by the demons in the Fate. To shed blood for others is to love, and pride, desire, rage, sloth, envy, and all other malevolent spirits cannot dwell in a heart where love resides."_

 _Merrill's lips are parted in shock and her eyes no longer just shine in the firelight and in the manner of the elves. There are tears in her eyes and the slip down her cheeks. She works her lips back and forth as though to speak, but it is as though her voice has been stolen. I finish tying off the bandage._

 _"If you shed blood in sacrifice, Merrill," I tell her, "then I will neither fault nor revile you. I know what it is to bleed for another. I know what it is to die for another. Do not let the words of the self-righteous dissuade you, and do not make these scars upon your body reminders of your selfishness and your own power. Instead, let them be the reminder that you loved so fiercely and were so devoted to your friends that your body bears witness. When you are old and when your vallaslin have faded, you will still look at these scars. Let them remind you…" my own voice broke here as I felt every scar on my body cry out with my words, "…let them remind you how well you_ _ **loved**_ _."_

* * *

I emerged from my reverie to find Merrill finishing the bandaging of my wounds. Her hands were so gentle and so kind…but they were not Leliana's hands. I missed the touch of my bard, of feeling the thick calluses on the tips of her fingers roving over my scars. I missed hearing her voice whispering in my ears, moaning beneath my touch, singing the sun to sleep, and speaking to me, thick and filled with emotion.

"Good as new." Merrill grinned at me as she cleaned up the area beside me and threw my bloodstained bandages in the fire.

I felt it an apt metaphor as I watched the flames consume the cloth and burn my blood. The blood within my veins burned also, consumed by a longing and an ache that would never leave my heart. The ache that once Leliana had filled, the jagged edge of my heart and my soul that her own jagged edges fit against with perfection unmatched.

"Thank you." I told her, smiling to myself as she dashed about the room, clearly anxious to look in on Micah Hawke and see how she fared.

I did not begrudge her the madcap rush away. I once knew what it was to care for someone so deeply that my mind teetered on the edge of sanity. I knew what it was to have my heart in my throat and my thoughts creating a vast abyss of terror. I could imagine horrific things, and I felt certain that Merrill could as well. She looked back at me from the door.

"Rest." she bade me, following it with a murmured, wishful hope. "Please."

"I shall try." I replied, and I would, for her sake.

It was not her fault that I could find no respite or healing in slumber. It was not her fault that the wounds in my body reminded me of darker times and sweeter times. It was not her fault that when I closed my eyes, I indulged the fantasy of meeting Leliana's eyes once more, taking her in my arms, kissing her and affirming that we were alive and once more free to love each other.

I could dream those dreams. I could indulge in those fantasies. What I could not do was make them come to pass. Leliana had been called by a god to change and save the world. To see me living once again would break her faith, but the temptation was too strong. In spite of what many believed, I was, indeed, only human. However, unlike so many who were human, I possessed the great ability to break my own heart.

 _I need to leave Kirkwall. At least, for a little while._


	22. Chapter 22

**Kathyra**

 _"Unrest in the Gallows. Unsure why. Will find more. Be watchful."_

My eyes strained to see the small letters, written in Kestrel's careful, precise hand. Leliana's messenger bird had returned earlier than I expected, which, due to past happenings, gave us cause to be wary. Things had been quiet in the four months since the qunari departed, but one never knew what to expect in the city of Kirkwall. As if in answer to the direction of my thoughts, a knock rang at the door.

My brow furrowed as I tucked the message from Kestrel into my pocket and released the bird that would return to her carrying a reply and message of my own. It was all too rare for a knock to sound against our door. The clinic had an established presence in the city now, and people knew that during the daylight hours, if a red scarf hung in the window, they had no need of knocking.

 _Leliana would not knock, and neither would Rylie. If it is a patient, it is one new to Kirkwall._

I made my way down the stairs from the loft and into the clinic proper, wondering who might be on the other side of the door. I reached for the knife at the small of my back, grasping the hilt with one hand and pulling the door open with the other. When I set eyes on the visitor, I abandoned my blade in favor of taking the offered hand and pulling the woman it belonged to into a fierce embrace.

I smelled wool, leather, steel, and the sweat of travel. Underneath that lay the familiar fragrance of myrrh and lilies, the scent of an old friend. I did not know what had brought her here, though I doubted it was a social visit. After holding her close a moment more, I pulled out of the embrace and took in every inch of her: dusky caramel skin, obsidian hair cropped short since the last time we met, and the same intelligent, gleaming cinnamon eyes.

"It is good to see you again, Kathyra." the rich accent fell against my ears and I could not resist a smile.

"It has been far too long, Cassandra." I pulled the door wider and stepped aside, allowing her entrance into the clinic.

She appraised it all in the space of a breath and turned back to me. "You seem quite at home here." she observed. "It appears that this assignment suits you."

"It possesses its own unique pleasures and miseries." I assented, showing her to a chair, unsurprised by how tired she appeared. The journey from Val Royeaux to Kirkwall was neither short nor easy. "Please, sit. Might I offer you anything? Food? Water?"

Cassandra shook her head. "As much as I would like to, I cannot stay. I have come bearing orders for me and Leliana. Orders from the Sunburst throne."

"Ah." I turned my face from Cassandra's all too perceptive eyes, knowing that she would see my countenance fall regardless of where we stood, but I needed the illusion of privacy.

I knew that Leliana's appointment as Justinia's Left Hand would take her from me more often, to places farther away than she had gone before. She would be away longer and I would not be able to venture to those places with her. Our work in Kirkwall was too important. But I would worry for her. Dear, blessed Maker, how I would worry.

 _With Cassandra here, I face the threat of being away from the woman I love for perhaps a month, or, most like, more than that. I will know where she is and how she fares, for we still have the birds to send messages but I still am uncomfortable with..._ I stopped my selfish thoughts, remembering the pain that another endured _…Salem Cousland has lost Leliana for a lifetime, and still she has the courage to live, though she must wake every day to the knowledge of her loss. I am not so strong._

"It is not for long, Kathyra, and not so very far away." Cassandra assured me, imparting at least a small measure of comfort. "We will be traveling to Ostwick. Most Holy received a letter, unsealed and unsigned. It insisted that the Right and Left hands come to Ostwick. We will be met there by an informant who has, according to the letter, invaluable information."

I stared at Cassandra for a long, silent moment. She had changed so much from the woman I had known as the Right Hand of Divine Beatrix. Beatrix had given Cassandra immense power when the initiate Seeker had been young, untested, untried, but powerful and passionate. The former divine purposefully molded Cassandra in the image that she desired. Beatrix forged Cassandra into a ruthless, merciless, adamantine fortress that would not hear of compassion, commiseration, or empathy.

Justinia, once Revered Mother Dorothea, had changed all of that. She had made Cassandra her right hand, but she had torn down the bitterness and jadedness that had once stained Cassandra's soul. She restored Cassandra's faltering and all-but-forgotten faith. Under Justinia's guidance, Cassandra had learned forgiveness, had strengthened her faith, and had become a woman that I, once her watchdog and her conscience, was proud to call my friend.

However, Leliana was not so quick to see the change. Cassandra once inexcusably mistreated her, and no matter my defense of her, no matter Justinia's entreaties that they work together as left and right hands, Leliana still treated her counterpart with apprehension, distrust, and not a little anger. Of course, I knew and understood the reason for my bard's ire. Leliana was quick to forgive one who had slighted her…but Cassandra had insulted, defamed, and physically threatened _Salem_.

Leliana did not, with ease, forgive someone who harmed the woman she loved. We were very alike in that respect, she and I. The woman who now sat upon the Sunburst throne was the woman whose room I had set aflame after tying her to a chair, locking her inside the inferno. I still did not trust Justinia, no matter that she had become Divine. Leliana said that the woman I described Dorothea as being was nowhere near the woman she had met when she recovered enough coherency after her fortnight of torture.

 _We are all allowed to change our hearts,_ I thought, a small smile quirking my lips as I took down a cup from the shelves and filled it with water. _Perhaps, if I am willing to believe that Dorothea has changed from her former ways, then Leliana will be more able to see the changes in Cassandra. Perhaps the Right and Left hands can work in cooperation, as it was meant to be…as it has so often not been._

"Why, in the Maker's name, is Dorothea sending her left and right hand for a simple exchange of information?" I asked, scrutinizing Cassandra, knowing that she would honor our friendship and give me the entirety of the truth.

"The letter ordered that we appear in person, or our informant will refuse to meet with us." Cassandra's lips thinned with her frustration. "Most Holy thought it best to honor the request. In these days of unrest, we cannot afford to discount any information, no matter the considerable pride of one who would _demand_ our presence."

She finished her words with the ubiquitous disgusted noise that had become a thing of legend. I smiled and walked to her, pressing the cup of water into her hand. Cassandra wasted no time, moving the cup to her lips and drinking deep. The cup did not move from her lips until she had drained the water, and I shook my head at her stubbornness. Some aspects of her character had not been altered in the slightest.

"Thank you." Cassandra said, setting the cup aside on the table I used for preparing herbs. "Is Sister Nightingale here?" she inquired. "We need to leave as soon as possible for Ostwick in order to arrive at the day and time specified in the letter."

Cassandra reached into a pouch that she wore at her belt and withdrew a carefully folded parchment. She extended it to me and I took it.

"You and Leliana have skills in matters such as this that I shall never attain. Frankly, I find the very idea of sculpting a man's character out of nothing but thought and conjecture beyond disturbing." Cassandra stated, forthright as ever.

I examined the parchment and the words within, wincing at the day and time specified by the alleged informant. Leliana and Cassandra would have to exhaust themselves in order to reach Ostwick in time. I pursed my lips as I read it, agreeing with Cassandra about the audacity of the sender.

"Well?" Cass inquired, and I held the parchment back out to her.

"Leliana will be able to tell you more." I stated the fact we both knew. "But it is a strange missive. The wielder of the pen is obviously educated and knowledgeable, while the parchment itself is cheap. There was no wax seal, you said?"

Cassandra nodded.

I pursed my lips. "A message meant to be kept secret is most often sealed. Cassandra, from all that I know, I would wager that the hand who delivered this to the Sunburst throne is the hand of your informant. You do not send an unsealed message with a courier, no matter the level of integrity they possess."

"I see." Cassandra frowned. "I would like Leliana's opinion of it, as well. Have you any knowledge as to when she will return?"

"Soon." I replied. "I asked her to go to the docks, as we are due a shipment of blood lotus from the Fallow Mire. But, while she is not here, Cassandra, I feel that I should warn you. During the time we have spent together in the last two years, I have borne witness to the changes of your heart. I know that Leliana has seen these changes as well, but you have hurt her in ways that are…difficult to transcend."

Cassandra the proud, stoic warrior, allowed shame to cross her features. "I know." she spoke, her words weighty with remorse. "I could not see it then, blinded my anger against her…blinded because I could see the hand of the Maker direct upon her life as it has never been upon mine. I fought and strove all of my life to be worthy of the Maker's blessing. I have dedicated myself in service since I was a woman young, and then I witnessed a woman with a stained past: a seductress, an assassin, and a liar, _blessed_ by our silent God. In my bitterness and my envy, I treated her poorly. For that, I am truly sorrowful."

I narrowed my eyes at her, though her words, laced with humility, made me believe that true change had come to her heart.

"I am not the one who needs to hear those words, Cassandra." I spoke to her as I did in the days of old between us, kind but stern.

The Right Hand nodded. "I am aware." she assured me. "I hope to reconcile with her, Kathyra. I have seen the measure of my wrongs during the ignorance of my earlier days. I allowed Beatrix to change me and to silence my conscience in favor of her orders, and for that I am ashamed. Justinia implored me to speak with Leliana, to attempt to mend past hurts and forge a bond between us. I pray that it will be easier than when Beatrix sat upon the Sunburst throne, for Sister Nightingale and I both love and respect Justinia. Perhaps our mutual love for Most Holy will help us respect one another."

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I shuddered at the thought of loving the woman I knew as Dorothea. The woman who had used the gifts and kindnesses of another to elevate her own name. The woman who had been the cause of Leliana's betrayal and torture. The woman who had broken her vow of poverty and lived in private opulence until I destroyed her luxury by fire. However, had it not been for Dorothea, Leliana would not be the paragon of the Maker's love that she was. The threads of fate were woven in patterns that we could never grasp. We could but simply see the intersections of souls and lives and wonder at the vagaries of time and chance.

"Speak to Leliana as you have spoken to me." I advised my friend. "She is no stranger to the forgiveness of grave sins. But, I would advise that you also apologize for the way in which you treated Salem Cousland. I will give you guarantee that your behavior towards Leliana's late wife is what angered her more than any pain you inflicted on her alone."

"Years have passed, and still you are looking out for me, Kathyra." Cassandra's voice held a teasing note which left me flabbergasted.

"You are still my friend, Cass." I affirmed my words with an emphatic nod, preparing to speak further when the clinic door opened and Leliana entered, an over-stuffed satchel on her back, stuffed with blood lotus.

The clinic filled with the pungent scent of iron and rosewater, but I paid no attention to the smell, instead watching as Leliana registered Cassandra's presence. I took in the subtle nuance of her body language: the shifting of her body so that her stronger right side protected her weaker left, her free hand rising to the hand that held the satchel strap so that she could release the catch for a hidden blade, if needed.

 _She still distrusts Cassandra,_ I thought as I studied them. _I am quite certain she will not be happy about the journey to Ostwick, solely in the company of her counterpart. Maker, give me the grace to mediate between these two._

"Cassandra," Leliana addressed the Seeker, looking as though the name left a sour taste in her mouth, "what brings you to Kirkwall?"

Cassandra held the letter she had shown me aloft, and extended it to Leliana. My lover slung the satchel off of her shoulder and set it beside the table before reaching for the letter, unfolding it, and taking in its contents. Her lips thinned and turned down at the corners and her eyes sparked, a terrifying, icy blue. She finished the letter and began reading it a second time to search for clues, or a code, or anything amiss within the crafting of the missive itself. When she finished, apologies filled her eyes and her aggrieved gaze met mine. I nodded my understanding and Leliana returned the letter to her counterpart.

"Allow me time to pack my clothes and gather my weapons." she said. "Then we shall be on our way."

She moved past me and walked up the steps to the loft. My heart shivered inside my chest and I felt a sense of cold foreboding, a sense that misfortune would befall them. I did not give voice to my thoughts, but they did not stop repeating in my mind over and over again.

 _Please, Leliana, please don't go. Please don't go. Please don't go._


	23. Chapter 23

**Leliana**

I argued with myself as I walked upstairs to the loft. I knew, when Justinia anointed my head with oil and when, out of sight of any witness, I had sworn to her an oath of loyalty. Her predecessor, Beatrix, had attempted to coerce me into making a similar oath in order to destroy my marriage vows. Justinia, however, asked for no such thing. She did not ask me to end my mission in Kirkwall, nor to give up the comfort of Kathyra as a lover.

 _In fact, Justinia told me, on the day that I became her Left Hand, that she owed Kathyra more than she could ever repay…in the world of the Game, when gold will not cover a debt, it is a life that is owed._

I reached the loft and walked to the chests in the dark corners of the room, in which our armor and weapons were stored. I thought of the women waiting for me downstairs, one to whom I entrusted my heart, the other with whom I shared a vow. That vow should have made us sisters, should have bound us close together but…but there were so many ways in which I still did not trust Cassandra Pentaghast.

 _And that is because you do not_ _ **know**_ _Cassandra Pentaghast,_ the voice of reason, a voice that sounded so much like Salem, spoke inside my own thoughts. _Do not let past wounds fester, Leliana. Forgive, as you know she would have done._

I shook my head, attempting to clear it of that voice. There were days when I listened to reason…and days when I did not. On this day, I did not feel as though I wished to. I had come home to find worry in my lover's eyes, and a woman, whose fate and mine were intertwined, awaiting me with a mission for the woman to whom _I_ owed a life. I opened the chest that held my belongings. With great care, I withdrew the leather cuirass that had survived the Fifth Blight.

The leather still held the sheen of a heavy polish, for I took considerable care of it, even after the years gone by. There were scorch marks that held sonnets, patches that retained legends, and stitching that bore a tale worthy of being woven into the constellations. I inspected the buckles and straps, finding them satisfactory and in working order. I set the cuirass aside and continued unpacking my armor.

The last time it had seen combat was during the qunari attack on Kirkwall. I could not lie that when I saw the cuirass, it reminded me of the two punctures that should have been in the leather, the two arrows that should have struck me in vital organs. I turned aside from the rest of my unpacking and traced my fingers over the places where the arrows should have pierced me through.

"I still have nightmares about that day." Kathyra's voice traveled across the loft floor and I looked up to see her standing at the top of the stairs. "I wake and I can still see blood on my hands...I still weep over that loss."

I offered my physician a soft smile, filled with the love and respect I held in my heart for her. "You feel that you failed him…and that you also failed me."

"I can't repay a life, Leliana." Kathyra raised her hands in the universal gesture of emptiness and supplication.

"It is not your life to repay, Kat." I reminded her, gentle. "It is my debt. And someday I will settle it, before your eyes, my eyes, and the Maker."

"It might not be my life to repay." Kathyra walked to the chest and began helping me prepare for the journey. She lifted my coat of chainmail, which she kept well-oiled and repaired. "But it is my heart, not my life, that I owe, Leliana. He…the one who saved you…spared both your life and my heart. We both have debts."

She had her back to me, but even so she could not disguise her emotions, nor did she have the desire to do so. She simply did not wish to speak words of ill-fortune before my departure. However, I had come to trust Kathyra's intuition. She had saved me times beyond counting…she was a safe hand in which to leave my broken heart. I loved her.

"You do not wish me to leave." I spoke her thoughts aloud, not needing to hide behind an inquiry of false innocence.

"As usual, you understand my mind." Kathyra turned to me, extending my sgian dubh in its sheath, for me to affix to my boot when I had finished dressing. "I cannot shake the feeling that something will go wrong…that you are in danger."

"So," I raised a quizzical brow, "you intuited that I will be riding to Ostwick with Cassandra Pentaghast."

Kathyra shook her head, laughing soft and low. "All levity aside, Leliana," her tone became serious, "I beg you to at least…at least _attempt_ to mend bridges with Cassandra. The two of you are now the hands of one body. You _must_ work, if not in harmony, _at least_ in unison. Cass wishes to reconcile, to atone. Please, allow it. You will need her protection and her friendship."

I pursed my lips and said nothing, letting my refusal to answer give Kathyra my response. Ignoring her words and wishes, I lifted my chainmail tunic, letting the heavy garment settle on my shoulders. Even through the sound of the tunic settling, I heard Kathyra's heavy sigh. I winced as I began to pull free the strands of hair that had caught in the links of metal.

A warm, callused hand covered mine, a hand that that knew battle and healing…a hand that had been clasped by Death's own talons and did not succumb. Kathyra freed my hair, waiting for me to, at last, look into her eyes and hear her words, as she knew that I would. I fought against it for as long as I could, allowing Kathyra to help me with the straps and buckles of my cuirass, bracers, greaves, and boots. She knelt before me and concealed the sgian dubh in my left boot; when she stood, I conquered my petty pride and met her gaze, willing, now, to hear what she would say.

"Leliana," Kathyra spoke low and soothing, the same voice with which she interceded with Death, "I did not wish to speak of this, because I know the pain it causes you, but I must speak now to ease the disquiet in my heart." Her fingers reached out and touched the hollow of my throat, where once I had worn my marriage ring. "I know that you put away Salem's ring." Kathyra murmured and my heart panged. "I cannot imagine how very difficult that must have been."

The utter compassion and complete empathy in her tone caused my eyes to mist over with grief. "Worse than torture." I admitted, and a single tear fell.

"I know, my darling." Kathyra wiped away the tear and gazed at me for a silent moment, her leaf-green eyes filled with love and strength. "I also know that you did such a difficult thing for a reason."

"To better serve my Maker." I told her and she nodded. "To move forward in my life."

"Forgive me now for what I say, Leliana." Kathyra entreated. "But if you were willing to lay aside the memory of your vow to Salem Cousland…is it not time to forgive the things done to her by others? You cannot still champion her cause and cling fast to old grievances if you have come to the place where you are willing to live without the constant reminder of her."

Kathyra's words stung like wine poured into a wound. They hurt in their own right but they also reminded me of the day I walked the walls of Vigil's Keep, furious with Alistair for choosing Miranda Cauthrien, the woman who had tortured my lover, as his queen. Salem spoke to me then as Kathyra spoke to me now…with a razor-edged tenderness that left a gaping, but clean, wound. The truth of my physician's words pierced me deep within my heart and I knew I could not fight them.

"You are…you are not wrong." I admitted. "You are not wrong, but the dreams still haunt and hurt and linger. I look upon Cassandra's face and I remember her with her eyes on fire and her sword drawn, its point aimed at Salem's heart. I do not know how to silence those memories, for they are so painful. Those recollections _hurt_ , Kat…so badly that even now they steal the breath from my lungs and they cause me…" my body worked in perfect harmony with my soul as two tears fell, "…they cause me to weep."

"My darling girl." Once again Kathyra wiped away my tears. "I understand your anguish, for I have known that hurt. I also know who _you_ are. You are the harbinger of change in this world. You are the message that the Maker desires spread across the land. To love unto the heart's fullest potential. You know as well as I, to effect change one must accept change. Accept Cassandra's." Kathyra looked down at me, seeing the reticence still stamped on my features. "Like me under Leron, and you under Marjolaine, Cassandra was taken in the flower of her youth and molded and changed by someone far more powerful than our bardmasters. Beatrix wished to make Cassandra in her own image, and the late Divine, as we both know, did not have the Maker's love in her heart. She bent Thedas to her will, using Cass as her instrument, a figurehead and enforcer. Cassandra was used as we were used, forged as we were forged. Look back upon yourself, Leliana. Look back upon me."

I shuddered as I thought of the woman I once was. The bard trained by Marjolaine disdained the truth and thought herself above it. That Leliana believed that all of love possessed a bladed edge; that passion expressed itself in bruises, bite-marks, and shouted words. She believed that, if love was professed, that the pleasures of the body could be taken from her whenever desired, regardless of her feelings or consent. She felt no remorse for the kill, the blackmail, the extortion, the adultery.

Kathyra saw realization dawn in my eyes and she nodded. "I see the self-reproach in your gaze that has haunted my eyes for years." she said. "But those lives are who we were. We have been blessed, Leliana. Blessed that somehow, two hearts, crafted solely out of love, reached out to our broken, worthless lives and healed them. Without Giselle, without Salem, Kathyra and Leliana would not exist. Cassandra has a heart, but Beatrix twisted it, as Leron did mine and as Marjolaine did yours."

I nodded, humbling myself and realizing Kathyra's intent. "Love saved us from who we were." I said, and she nodded. "But Cassandra has not yet known that manner of love."

"Yes." Kathyra rested her hands on my hips and drew me closer to her. "Very few are blessed as we were. There is no guarantee that Cassandra will find the other half of her soul, though I pray she does. Already, Justinia has changed her with a mentor's love, and shown her perhaps a mother's love. But Justinia belongs to Thedas, she will never be to Cassandra what you are able to be."

"And what is that?" I asked, reaching up and lacing my hands behind her neck. "A friend? A confidante? A counterpart?"

"All of that. And perhaps something Cassandra needs more. A sister." Kathyra's eyes sparked with love and desire as she pulled my body flush against hers. "At least try. For my sake. Please."

"Kathyra, I have left before, for longer periods of time than this journey promises to be." I did not like the furrow in her brow or the worry in her eyes. "Why, now, are you so troubled?"

"I do not rightly know." she answered. "But there is disquiet in my spirit. Promise me you will be careful."

"I swear it." I made yet another vow.

Kathyra molded her body to mine and pressed her lips against my own. I smiled into the kiss, relishing and savoring the taste of my lover and the feel of her warmth so near to me. I would miss her and I would worry, but I knew that this would be but the first of many such separations. Suddenly, I had no desire to leave the comfort of her body and the tumultuous life that we lived in Kirkwall. But I had made a promise. I had a calling to honor.

After a long moment and impassioned kiss, Kathyra withdrew, sparing me the pain of doing so. She tucked a loose lock of hair behind my ear, and tried to smile.

"I love you." she murmured, and I knew she would say nothing further, for those three words were both our greetings to each other and our partings from one another.

I lifted my bow and fixed it to my back, then reached out and took Kathyra's hand, looking her in the eye. "I love you too."

We needed to say nothing more. With trepidation in my spirit and determination in my heart, I walked down the stairs and back into the clinic where Cassandra waited.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Author's Note:** Many apologies for the lateness of this chapter. I know I said it would be up a little while ago, and then my life turned into a shitstorm that made me think that taking a vacation in Hell would be a pleasant change. Needless to say, several sleepless hours, bloodied knuckles, and two ER visits later (my bondmate is quite ill and dealing with kidney stones), I present this chapter, and hope that you enjoy. Also, to my fellow Americans, Happy Independence Day!_

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Cassandra**

This room felt so painfully like a home. From the bundles of fragrant herbs hanging above the fireplace to the shelves lined with labeled vials of tonics, tinctures, and potions, it all spoke of comfort, peace, and protection. I had always respected Kathyra's abilities, her great skill with healing, but I had never known that she had the power of…the power of taking a foreign and strange place and crafting it into a haven. Standing here in this place made my heart pang with…with regret.

 _I resented Kathyra so very much. I knew why Beatrix had attached the physician to my hip and it rankled my pride. I felt as though Beatrix did not trust me to keep care of myself and those under my command and that she tied Kathyra to me as a guardian. As though I were a child…even though Kathyra never treated me as such._

I walked around the room, looking at all the small touches that made this more than a clinic…it made it a house of healing. Not so long ago, I might not have felt the difference, or even known it for a difference. But, even now, old as I had become, each new day held new lessons, new revelations, new understandings. So much of life had been stolen from me, and I had not even known. So many lies had been told unto me, and I had believed them.

 _This has been a time of revelation, a time of learning, a time of humility. As Most Holy tells me, unto everything a time and season is given. Now is a season of unrest and discontent, and I do not know when it will end. I do, however, know the one_ _ **who**_ _will end it._

My mind drifted back to the day that my world had changed, the day that Revered Mother Dorothea, a mother of the ignominious Valence Cloister, had taken the Sunburst throne and become Justinia the Fifth, the Divine and the most powerful woman in Thedas. I had performed in my ceremonial place as the Right Hand, but had no manner of knowing if I would retain the position. Every Divine, since the founding of the Chantry as we knew it, had chosen a new right and left hand. I thought that Justinia would be no different.

 _I did not know why, but the thought of returning to the Order, of being nothing more than a Seeker again, filled me with such dread. I had become so accustomed to walking with the powerful, carrying myself as Beatrix instructed me to…taking pride in the fact that I held her confidence, hating as she hated, removing what she disapproved of, enforcing every word that fell from her lips without listening…without listening._

My hands clenched into fists as memories of my greatest failure draped themselves across my shoulders, a cloak of guilt and self-recrimination. My dreams and recollections were full of moments that, at the time of their happening, I thought myself in the right. Now, I knew. Another had held a reflective glass against my soul and I saw that…that while the largesse of my decisions had not been incorrect, the manner in which I carried them out had been…lacking in honor and grace.

Above me I heard footsteps and my heart constricted inside my chest at the thought of the task ahead. For others, it might have been simple, but others did not have this history between them that I possessed with Leliana Cousland. To say bad blood lay between us would have been a gross and negligent understatement. I had wronged her in so many ways, and now we were meant to work together as one. This task was the second that the Divine had asked me to undertake for her, and while I dreaded it, it was easier than the first task to which she set me, the vow to which she held me…

* * *

 _I stand outside of the great hall in the Divine's tower, my spirit torn within itself. Today, I held aloft the ceremonial sword, my badge of office as the Right Hand. I stood on Revered Mother Dorothea's right side and watched as she became Justinia. I watched my life as I knew it vanish before my very eyes, for, as the first action taken after Dorothea swore her oath and took her new name, she called for the execution of Beatrix's left hand._

 _Sweat had poured down my face and stung my eyes as I waited for her to say something of me, to command my fate with the most powerful voice in all of Thedas. Nothing happened, however. Now I wait, watching the setting of the sun, looking from the height of the tower to the buildings allotted to the Order of Seekers. It has been so long since I followed that calling, my first and original purpose. My thoughts are so thick and tangled that I do not hear the soft footsteps approaching until a hand rests on my shoulder._

 _Alarmed, I turn and reach for the hilt of the sword that I no longer carry. My badge of office, my trusted blade, has been removed from my side. I feel lost, cast adrift into an open sea, looking into the eyes of a young sister of the Chantry._

 _"Seeker Pentaghast," my name sounds like a question in her timorous voice, "Most Holy requests your presence before the Sunburst throne."_

 _I square my shoulders and nod, a lump forming in my throat that is too large to speak past. I make my way through the doors that I have walked through countless times, confident, self-assured, and, yes, proud. Now, however, everything is uncertain. The hall that stretches out before me now seems as an ocean of fears realized. My footsteps echo in the emptiness, for all others have departed. The quiet itself is more daunting than an army set against me. This is the house of the greatest power in Thedas, and it has never been this silent._

 _"You've nothing to fear, Cassandra." the voice from the Sunburst throne is kind and warm, warm like the hearth fire in a tavern when winter rages outside. "Come forward."_

 _I quicken my steps and reach the dais, stopping at foot of the stairs, which I used to climb without hesitation, knowing always that I was welcome beside the throne. I go to my knees, showing proper obeisance before Divine Justinia, wondering why she has called me to her. There are no others in my sight, no other to whom she might give my rank and the burdens I carry beneath it._

 _Once again I hear footsteps and I lift my head to see a sight I never before have witnessed. Divine Justinia stands before me, her throne, her seat of power, left empty. Beatrix never abandoned the dais, her elevation above the people: the tallest place in the highest tower in Thedas…the place that the Maker first would touch, should he return to Thedas once more._

 _"Rise, Cassandra." she orders, and her voice is kind._

 _I stand and see that she holds the sword I carried as the Right Hand. I do not let my gaze linger, not wishing to seem hungry for power or title, and lift my eyes to hers. I tremble in my spirit as I meet her gaze, for there is a light within her blue eyes that I have never before seen. Beatrix's obsidian eyes had held a light, a light that I thought stemmed from her connection to the Maker…but I realize now that I was wrong. Beatrix's eyes were cold, calculating, brutal in their intensity. They struck fear in the hearts of men and inspired obedience through the power she possessed. Justinia's eyes gleam as though her very spirit is shining through them. There is a radiant peace within her gaze and it blankets me in a warmth heretofore unknown to me. I want to shield my eyes from the luminescence that glimmers even in the dim lighting of the torches, a light that threatens, not to flay me alive, but to lift me up amongst the stars, show unto me the sun, and strip away any impurity that might lie within my soul._

 _"I am your servant, Most Holy." the words fall from my lips, an ancient oath of the Seekers, to serve the mortal voice of the Maker and to do her bidding in the world._

 _"As of this moment, Cassandra Pentaghast, you are no longer my servant." Justinia speaks and her words echo through the marble halls, causing me to shiver, for what I have feared is coming to pass. I am to lose all that I know, and return to something now foreign unto me._

 _"Command me as you will." I whisper, struggling to find my strength, but in the presence of this woman, it is vanquished without ever having been brought to bear._

 _"It is my wish that you continue the path that you walked with my predecessor." Justinia says, and my heart quickens within my chest. "I would have you as my right hand, should you so wish that mantle once more grace your shoulders."_

 _"I…" my words feel caught in my chest like a bear in a trap, a broken, bleeding creature of power shackled and torn. "…I would be honored."_

 _"As would I." Justinia replies, startling me yet again. She commands the greatest power in Thedas. Her word is law, even above that of emperors and kings. She lessens her office in saying that I, a mere Seeker, honor her by being willing to serve as I have served for many years._

 _Silence falls once again, bearing down on me, dragging me, like an anchor, beneath the tension that rises. I feel that she is waiting for me to do something, but I do not know what it is she wants from me. I am afraid to ask, afraid to look into the blinding blue light of her eyes yet again, however, I feel that I must act. I lift my hand to reach for the sword. As it clasps the scabbard, Justinia's hand covers my own, her touch almost burning me. My arm feels paralyzed, I do not think I can move it, even though Most Holy's touch is the lightest of pressures._

 _"You swore a vow on this blade to my predecessor, did you not?" Justinia asks, her feather-iron grip upon my hand filling me with awe and terror._

 _ **She could command with a whisper, should she so desire…who is this new Divine?**_

 _"I did, Most Holy." I answer. "And I am prepared to take that same vow again, before you."_

 _Justinia's features remain unmoved, but I see her canny eyes thinking, restructuring her own kingdom. Something will change here, I can sense that and, as ever I have, I prepare for that change. I remember the words of my vow to Divine Beatrix; the pride that had filled me on that day, as a young woman, when I stood before the woman whose life I had saved, and who asked me in return to be her hand upon the face of Thedas. I had stood before her and been honored, with Galyan at my side._

 _ **Galyan…**_ _I think of him, and not a little pain pierces through my heart…_ _ **why, Galyan? Why…**_

 _My mind pulls away from those thoughts as a slow smile spreads across Justinia's face, beneficence and kindness. In her eyes live knowledge, wisdom, and understanding, and I begin to wonder what manner of woman has taken the Sunburst throne._

 _"You know the words of the ancient oath?" she asks, and I nod my head. "Speak them now." she orders, and my lips part._

 _"I, Cassandra Pentaghast, do lay my blood and life upon this oath. I swear myself to the Chant of Light, to the Maker, and to his voice across Thedas. To you, Most Holy, I swear my fealty, loyalty, and complete submission. I subject myself to your will, to act as your Right Hand upon Thedas, to become your voice, your hands, your beliefs, and your influence. I lift this sword in promise and in vow. I am mine no more, Most Holy, but yours."_

 _I wait for Justinia to follow the ancient tradition, and relinquish the sword into my hands, anoint me with ceremonial oil…the oil of frankincense and myrrh. It is the oil that covers the bodies of the dead, to preserve them. It is also used to anoint the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, to symbolize that they have died to themselves and embraced a new life, a new identity, and a new set of ideals and purpose._

 _"Cassandra Pentaghast," Justinia speaks my name and in her voice, I shudder at the sound of it. "I ask you now to renounce that vow."_

 _My eyes widen in shock and my ears struggle to comprehend her words. She has asked me to be her right hand. I have agreed. My oath is sworn…is this a trick? Some twist of the Game that I am not prepared for because I do not take part in that infernal madness? Why does she ask such a thing of me?_

 _"I do not…"_

 _"Cassandra." once again she says my name and I quiet, I quiet because in the tone of her voice there is peace. "When you became a Seeker and underwent your trials, what spirit came to you? What divine grace touched you in the wasteland?"_

 _Her eyes do not stray from my own and I feel as though I am burning…but I do not know why. I often felt scorched by the ice in Divine Beatrix's gaze…it is nothing compared to the flames in Justinia's._

 _"I was touched by a spirit of faith, Most Holy." I murmur, feeling as though she asks a question to which she already knows the answer._

 _"Tell me, Cassandra," she says my name with such gentleness, as though I am a small child, lost, adrift, and in need of comfort, "does the vow you made hold any place for faith of your own…" I can sense that her question is unfinished, and I repeat in my mind the words I spoke, a horrific realization dawning over me. I had sworn my faith to Beatrix, and with my faith, my conscience, my heart, and the manner in which I saw and reacted to the world. "…or does it make you the slave of my faith?" Justinia finishes her question and I feel young again, and full of shame and failure._

 _As if I have been dealt a mortal wound, my life flashes before my eyes and I see the choices that I made that were not_ _ **my**_ _choices. I see the words I have spoken that were not my words, the wounds I have dealt with a sword that I held in my hand, but did not wield. I see the mistakes that I have made and I tremble for I am more a monster than I know. Slow, and with purpose, I remove my hand from the sword I would have so willingly took up but a moment ago, and fall to my knees. There are tears in my eyes and they burn, for I have not wept in so long._

 _"Most Holy," I manage to choke out the words, "I am unworthy to take up your sword. I am unworthy of being your right hand. My faith has been defiled and I am not…I am no longer fit to wield that sacred blade."_

 _A hand rests on my shoulder and it is the purity of cleansing fire, burning through my tabard and shirt and into my skin, snaking through muscle and vein until it ignites in my heart. I look up and there is the Divine, the most powerful woman in Thedas, upon her knees. The sword I am no longer fit to touch lies on the ground between us. Justinia holds me with her gaze, then reaches for the sleeve of her robe that covers the arm with the hand that scalds my shoulder._

 _She pulls back her sleeve and in the dim light, I see the slick and shiny skin of her arm, skin that should be soft and wrinkled with age. Instead, there are hills of flesh, rivers and crags, and I recognize the deformation. Justinia has been burned, very badly burned…I wonder how far the damage extends, then follow her arm and see, now that the high collar required by pomp and circumstance has been removed, that the burns extend to her neck._

 _"I once was a woman of the world." Justinia speaks, her words riveting me in place. "Before the Chantry, I had wealth, a quiet fame, and many lovers. Then I discovered how quickly what was given might be taken. I became impoverished, untouchable, and in my destitution I came to the Chantry, made my vows of poverty and of chastity, and, for a while, adhered to them. Then I discovered the system of rank; that piety could bring prosperity, and I became the Revered Mother of the Chantry in Val Royeaux, the most prestigious of the houses of worship. I answered to none but the Nine and the Divine, and in that place, I began to forget my vows. I knew wealth once more, and luxury, and more than once did I forego the vow of chastity in pursuit of carnal pleasures. I caved to the social mores, and there was one under my care and my oversight, a half-elven woman of intelligence and learning, whose life I transformed into a morass of misery. I went so far as to believe that I owned her, for I had signed and sealed papers that swore her in service to the Chantry. My actions went uninhibited for so very long that I forgot my own humanity…I forgot I could do wrong."_

 _I stare, wide-eyed at the woman who is known as the purest and most pious in all the land, the conduit for the Maker, should he break his silence, to speak through. She is meant to be the shepherd of our souls, but from her lips I hear the tale of a life ill-lived, and I wonder if I have departed my sanity and entered upon another universe, another place and time. I wish to strike myself so that I might know that I do not sleep, but I am held still, entranced by her gaze, affixed to her tale, unable to turn away._

 _"Then one night, as I sat before my fire and indulged in my luxuries, a hand trapped my body and bound me to my chair." Justinia's recollection continues and I do not know what to think or to believe. "Then, for a horrific moment in time, a sinner, a murderer, a thief, and a liar berated me for my wrong-doings. She reached into the hideous ink-dark of my twisted heart and laid me bare. Then, as punishment, she lit the room afire, so that I would be forced to watch my ill-gotten gains be destroyed, and meditate on the vows that I had taken. These scars are from that night. In spite of the hospice we had in the Chantry, none of the healers there could mend my body or drive away the infection. Then the one I had wronged, the half-elven physician, came to my bedside and healed my wounds, even though I had scarred her irrevocably. I should have learned forgiveness then, but the pain of my injuries brought anger and vengeance to my mind, not peace and quiet reflection. I healed and found that the many who served with and beneath me were incensed on my behalf, and in that, I found justification for the woman I had been. It brings me shame to say that I went back to my wicked ways, using my rank and station to bring me wealth, to play the Game, and I bought and sold secrets in the houses of the mighty. I sold a secret that ruined the life of a young woman…a young woman who stood in this very hall and left before you entered, a young woman who became my Left Hand."_

 _My lips part in shock at the revelation, for I know and greatly dislike and disapprove of the woman who is now the Left Hand of the Divine. I had stood with her before Beatrix, and listened to insane claims of prophecy and visions. Beatrix had told me of her past, that she claimed to speak for the Maker, and that she lay with a woman, an abomination Grey Warden who had done the impossible and felled an archdemon without losing her life._

 _But I had also stood before this woman and felt my sword frozen at the sound of her voice; had my weapon flung away by an invisible hand so powerful that the blade still remained embedded in the wall of the Chantry in Amaranthine. I had fallen to my knees before a vision, and heard a voice that peeled my ears apart, stripped my soul down to its core, and poured fire within it. Still, I had not wished to believe, for the woman's past was steeped in blood and death, chicanery and lies, illicit affairs, feigned love, stolen secrets, and all manner of indecency that broke the Maker's laws, that defied and defiled the Chant of Light._

 _ **Leliana Cousland,**_ _a shiver slithered down my spine at the name._ _ **Leliana Cousland now stands as the Left Hand of this new Divine…this new Divine who has flayed me open with a look and the story of a life lived. I am bewildered…I do not know what to do…and even more pressing…I do not know quite who I am.**_

 _"There is grace still in this world." Justinia speaks once more, and I fall into her words. "There is grace still in this world, for the physician who mended Leliana, who saved her life, is the one who left upon me these scars. The one who wounded also healed, and bade me send Leliana, when she healed fully, to Ferelden. I cleansed my soul by saving the life of the bard, and she in turn, by loving the Grey Warden, had a hand in sparing Thedas from a Blight. Then, Leliana returned to us, and found comfort in the arms of the physician who saved her and scarred me, the Seeker touched by a spirit of compassion, the one you know as Kathyra."_

 _The power of speech has been taken from me. I have been in the lives of all those whom Justinia speaks of. I have seen them and spoken with them and fought against and alongside them. Their story is so intricate, so intertwined, and I see that, in the life I have lived, wielding the faith not mine and the sword not mine, that I have played the antagonist. Now I kneel on the ground before the one who wishes me to…to become part of this inner circle of entwined fates and destinies. I realize that I am being offered forgiveness for a crime I had no knowledge of committing._

 _"You did not know my name when I rose to this position, did you, Cassandra?" Justinia asks, and her voice is so very kind, so very soothing, like the voice of a mother speaking to her child._

 _"I did not." I reply, once more feeling shame._

 _"That is because, after Leliana healed and I helped her escape the Empress' men, and sent her to Ferelden, I abdicated my position." Justinia states. "I requested that I be moved, and I became the Revered Mother at the Valence Cloister, an ignominious Chantry in an ignominious location. But, in that simple place, among, not simple, but_ _ **real**_ _people, I learned what it is to know faith, to do good works, and to truly be devout. Make no mistake, Cassandra, I can play the Game with more skill than any bard or noble. But I no longer play it in the interest of myself and my station. I have come to my highest point already. Instead, I must play for the good of Thedas, in order to prepare this land for the return of their Maker, and his new prophet. Do you understand, Cassandra?"_

 _I nod my head, still unable to control the tears spilling down my face, for I kneel before a woman of faith who is unlike any other who has attained this position. Justinia seeks nothing for herself, nor does she seek power for the Chantry. I can see it in her eyes and hear it in her heart…she seeks good for the people of Thedas. She seeks after a world where kindness reigns and where we all remember the god whom we serve. A god who sought to bring men out from the tyranny of magic. A god who called a prophet…the Chantry has gone astray in their following of Andraste. I see this now. The Chantry has seen the templars set in greater power than they should be, for we believe in the Exalted March and we believe in the wiping out of dangers that we do not understand._

 _In Justinia's eyes, I see no fear. I see only hope for the future, and a faith that once touched me, brought me out from the wasteland, and stood ready to craft me into a woman that I did not become. A woman that I did not become because I swore an oath to a woman who stole my faith and used my sword for her benefit. I have done wrong and been wronged, and in Justinia's eyes and touch I see my chance to right all that has been done._

 _"Will you be my Right Hand, Cassandra?" Justinia asks, and I am humbled and brought low as I nod my head, unable to speak even a single word._

 _"Then swear unto me this vow." Justinia orders, and she lifts the sword from the floor._

 _On my knees, I grasp it, and she rests her right hand over my right hand in the time honored tradition…but it is simply tradition. This will be unlike any vow I have ever before sworn, a deviation from tradition._

 _"You will live in love." Justinia says, and I cling to her every word. "You will serve in love. You will fight to protect. You will be slow to anger, but swift to justice. Always you will remember the mercy given you, and you will grant it unto others. You will be rooted in love, driven by hope, and you will never forget your fallibility, but be ever guided by your faith."_

 _I feel a fire in my spirit as I part my lips and speak her words. "I swear to live in love." I made my new vow. "I will serve in love. I will fight to protect. I will be slow to anger, but swift to justice. Always I will remember the mercy given me, and I will grant it unto others. I will be rooted in love, driven by hope, and I will never forget my fallibility, but be ever guided by my faith."_

 _Justinia nods, and she looks pleased. "Rise, Cassandra Pentaghast." she commands, removing her hands from the sword, leaving me to carry it. "Rise as my Right Hand."_

* * *

I emerged from the memory as I heard the sound of footsteps moving down the stairs. I looked up to see ocean blue eyes that had already been written into history. Behind Leliana was her lover, and my friend, the physician Kathyra. I thought of the history Justinia had given me, the interconnected lines of fates and destinies. Once, to both of them, I had been the antagonist. I had threatened Leliana once and been beaten into unconsciousness by Salem Cousland. I had almost let Kathyra and another young templar die because of the vow I had sworn to Beatrix, my fixed devotion to her and to my vow.

 _This is not who I am any longer,_ I thought, _but neither of them knows this. I must prove it, both to them and to myself._


	25. Chapter 25

**Leliana**

Cassandra looked so very different than the last time I had seen her. It was not simply that years had passed, or that she had cut short her raven waterfall of hair. Her eyes held a different light than they had the last time I had looked into them for any amount of time. The cinnamon and amber seemed softened and mellowed, becoming a quiet flame instead of the hard crystals of before. Even so, I had not yet spoken a single word to her. While Cassandra had never been given to deception, all things were subject to change, and I did not know if I could trust her with the words I spoke.

 _I suppose that, with the time we are meant to spend together, I shall soon find out._

"Hello, Cassandra." I berated myself internally, for even the simple greeting sounded strained and contrived.

"Leliana." she, too, sounded stiff and formal and I turned to Kathyra with a glance of desperation.

My physician did _nothing_ to help the situation, her lips widened in a smile and her eyes veritably _twinkled_ with deviousness and mischief. I frowned, realizing that the awkward tension rising between Cassandra and I was _entertaining_ her. The Right Hand moved into my peripheral vision, and I saw the harsh glower in her eyes directed towards Kathyra.

"What makes you believe this is amusing?" Cassandra asked, a veritable thunderstorm smoldering behind her gaze.

"Due to the fact that it _is_ amusing." Kathyra chuckled. "It appears that if the two of you aren't shouting at each other or arguing over something, you've no manner of idea how to speak."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and stalked towards the door. "I will wait here for you, Leliana. I will not tolerate being mocked for no purpose."

"It has a purpose." Kathyra showed her cheeky side, a humor bright and free that I adored, even though it was so very different from Salem's levity, sarcasm, and dark humor. "My lover is soon to leave, and I am worried for her and for you. If mocking you lightens the burden of my anxieties, then is it not well worth it, for one moment, to be ridiculed? Especially if it is not in earnest?"

"Fine." Cassandra groused, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall.

I could not resist a low chuckle at that and turned a thankful smile to Kathyra. She reached out and took my satchel from me, walking to our stores and packing a supply of dried meats, fruits, and traveler's bread, which had no yeast and therefore kept longer. I watched her carefully, noticing the slight tremor of her hands as she packed my satchel, including, not just food, but bandaging, pain relievers, sleeping drafts, antiseptics…it worried me.

Ignoring Cassandra, I drew closer to my lover and rested my hand over hers, but she did not cease in her work, continuing to pack for much more than a contingency.

"Kathyra, what are you doing?" I whispered. "This is a very simple task, at most two days of travel by sea, and that is if the winds are not in our favor."

Kathyra took a deep break and looked up at me, worry shining in her spring-green eyes. "What happened the last time you and Cassandra were on a ship together?" she asked, bringing back a host of memories that were the height of unpleasantness to recollect.

"This is not then, Kathyra." I reminded her. "And we all managed to survive that last time. We made it through. We persevered. As always we do."

"This may not be then, but that will not keep me from my worries or dissuade me from following my intuition." Kathyra claimed, but her words held no anger, only soft, gentle love that whispered to my heart and warmed it. "I pray I am wrong, Leliana, but I will not rest easy until you are back in my arms."

She finished her packing and I did nothing further to distract her until she completed her task. She pushed the satchel across the table towards me, but I ignored it. I moved around the table and took her in my arms, holding her close, attempting to assuage her worry. We had faced much together, but still we were alive. Where others might have fallen, we pulled through. I tried to impart this to her as I held her close, my beating heart against her beating heart.

"I love you." I whispered against her ear, feeling her arms wrap tighter about me.

"Come back to me, Leliana." her words were gentle, but her voice felt like the intensity of the thundering skies. "Just…just come back to me."

She pulled away from the embrace and her lips were on mine, the heat of her mouth searing like a brand and a promise. I returned her love with ardor, attempting to replace her misgivings with my confidence. I walked with the Maker, and I knew in my spirit that no harm would befall me…at least not harm leading unto death.

After a moment, I pulled away from the kiss and felt the fire of Cassandra's eyes on us. I glanced up, shocked to see…longing…in the imperious woman's gaze. The glimpse of emotion shocked me so much that I said nothing, and an instant later a shield fell over the Seeker's cinnamon eyes. Kathyra lifted my satchel and set it about my shoulders, then checked one last time that my bow remained secure in its holder.

I walked towards the door and Cassandra opened it. Before stepping across the threshold, I looked back, one last time, on the woman I loved.

"Leliana, Cassandra," Kathyra addressed us, "take care of each other. Be kind to one another. You wield weapons of protection, you are the shields of Thedas. Do not turn your weapons against each other or I swear on my blood and the Maker, I will destroy both of you."

"I love you, too." I replied and Kathyra smiled, an image that I saved in my mind for the trip and task ahead. I did not know how long we would be gone, but it grew more and more difficult to leave Kathyra's side the longer we remained together.

The door closed behind us and Cassandra showed me where she had tied the horses. We mounted and the Seeker looked to me.

"Do you truly believe Kathyra would follow through…"

"Yes." I nodded, flashing a smile at Cassandra. "In a heartbeat, yes."


	26. Chapter 26

_**Author's Note:**_ _I'm back! Hi, everyone, and thank you all so very much for being so patient. I'm not going to lie, this last week and a half has been trial by fire, and my bondmate and I don't appear to be out of the woods yet. There have been five emergency room visits, two surgeries, two outpatient procedures, and we're looking at another surgery tomorrow (for something entirely different), and so on and so forth. I've been playing nurse, chauffeur, scheduler, and secretary, and life has not been easy, but I have very much missed writing and posting, so I am attempting to get myself back into a comfort zone and a routine. Thank you all so much for your patience, thoughts, and prayers. A special thanks to Kateriel79, Aeowyn99, and Drummerchick7 for helping me through the hell tornado that was this week. You guys are amazing.  
_

 _Bright Blessings!_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Cassandra**

I learned long ago that silence could carry with it an authority that knew no disputation. I learned this at the feet of Divine Beatrix, watching her cow saints and sinners alike with a stony countenance, cold eyes, and pursed lips that refused to speak. Under her obsidian gaze, confessions had poured forth, a litany of sins in a waterfall of admission. I had taught myself that same expression, and those I confronted had caved before me as they had before the previous Divine.

However, when I looked at the woman who rode beside me, I knew that no manner of silence would intimidate her or make her speak. She had known true torture: the lash and the brand and the horror of molten metal poured into raw wounds. If she did not wish to speak, no power on earth could force her lips to move. But I did not wish for this to be a time of silence between us. I gave my word to Most Holy, Divine Justinia, that I, as her right hand, would do my utmost to reconcile and work alongside the left hand.

That meant my duty was to break the silence…which meant that Kathyra, the infuriating woman, had been right. I possessed no concept of what to say to Leliana, for we had argued and shouted at each other but we had never…we had never spoken as equals. That was my doing. My fault, for being a slave to my pride.

"I've chartered a ship to take us to Ostwick." I broke the silence, unnerved by the blue eyes that fixed on me, unnerved because, though the woman I spoke to was younger than me, there were centuries behind her gaze. "We should arrive in two day's time, giving us one day before our appointed meeting with the informant."

Leliana nodded, but her eyes did not move from my own. "This informant has a considerable amount of power, do they not?"

"What do you mean by that?" I inquired, wondering at the true meaning of her words, for Leliana did not speak but that her words had layered meaning.

"They have demanded the presence of the left and right hands, and we have acquiesced." Leliana explained. "They have set a day and time in which we have no leeway or say. If we do not meet that time, I imagine they have said we will not receive the information?"

"Yes." I began to follow the line of her thoughts.

"You have, of course, considered that this might be a trap?" Leliana asked. I expected to see disdain in her crystalline eyes, or hear it in her voice, but it was not present.

"I have." I nodded. "But I have learned that a meeting with so many strictures and demands is either a trap, or a meeting that will impart truly important information."

"Therefore we are caving to the demands?" Leliana mused. "Intriguing."

The lilt in her voice over the last word strummed against my nerves in a decidedly unpleasant manner. I somehow felt that she condescended to and patronized me, while at the same time I felt a burning curiosity to know what she found intriguing.

"Oh?" the single syllable left my lips and, not so long ago, I would have cursed at the vulnerability that lay within my response. Now, however, I chose to allow it.

"The Cassandra Pentaghast I know would never have acceded to traveling to a place of another's choosing with only one other for company and protection. She would not have allowed a stranger to command her in any fashion. And she most certainly would not have made the journey with a woman she once backhanded across the face and called a heretic."

As schooled as I was in controlling my emotions, I could not stop the flush of shame that bloomed across my cheeks. I reminded myself that it mattered nothing to others that _I_ had seen the mistakes made in the past. It would have to be proven to them, and that would not be easy…for I had been a fool through much of my life. A well-intentioned fool, but a fool nonetheless.

"The Cassandra Pentaghast you knew is, I pray, dead and buried." I spoke low as we rode through the streets of Kirkwall towards the docks. "I allowed myself to be molded into what I thought was the Maker's image…without realizing that it was a mortal woman who molded me."

Leliana's brows raised, but other than that, she offered me no emotional response. "We all suffer such painful realizations at some juncture in our lives, if the Maker is kind." she murmured, kinder words than I thought she would offer.

I shook my head. "If the Maker is kind, then we shall know pain?" I asked. "There are many in Thedas who would disagree with you, Leliana."

"There are many in Thedas who are welcome to do so." Leliana's lips quirked upwards in the smallest, saddest smile I had ever witnessed. "It will not make my words any less the truth."

I frowned, wondering how the ironclad truth in her statement could make her anything less than arrogant. Arrogant as she had accused me of being on more than one occasion. However, nothing about Leliana communicated arrogance…she simply possessed true confidence, a confidence that presented itself as quiet, competent strength. I knew that I was strong. I knew that others feared my strength, prowess, and capability. But something in Leliana's voice, something in the way she held herself, communicated a much different kind of strength then that which I possessed.

"As you say." I allowed, unable to find anything else with which to reply.

Leliana reined in her horse, hard and sharp. Even in the saddle she remained still, a fierce stillness that almost terrified me. I stopped and her blue eyes shredded through my own, seeming to pierce through me to my very core. Her red hair waved behind her in the wind like a blood-drenched banner, and her skin looked white as snow. I shivered in the silence that she held; that she reigned over.

"Do not _ever_ ," her voice was a low hiss, a serpent's warning before its fatal bite, "say those three words to me _again_. Do we have an agreement?"

I felt a fire kindle in my heart, a fire that Leliana alone could incite, a combative spirit that I did not often possess with those who were my compatriots, who served the Maker and the Divine as I did. This woman, however, this prophet, this bard, this…this _creature_ could incite that battle-born spirit and drive me near to insanity.

"Not without a reason." I spoke, sharpening my words as she had sharpened hers, phantom weapons that we flung through the air, a sparring match invisible to the naked eye.

"I do not owe you that reason." she growled, nudging her horse in the sides and moving past me at a canter through the streets of Lowtown.

Cursing under my breath I spurred my own mount forward, shaking my head. I had promised Justinia that this time would be different, that I would control my anger, that I would swallow my pride and show Leliana that I had changed. I had just failed the first test. I could have agreed, acted further in ways that might earn her trust, _then_ gain her answer. Instead, I had demanded what I had no right to know.

 _Forgive me, my Maker. Forgive me, Most Holy. I swear I will continue to try to prove, with actions perhaps, instead of words, that I am a woman changed. I will_ _ **not**_ _fail in this mission. Maker…help me._


	27. Chapter 27

**Salem**

The salt air stung in my nose, carrying with it the scent of burned lyrium and congealed blood, the stench that defined Kirkwall. Anyone with any sort of instinct could tell that ill winds blew in this city, that the things which flourished here in the name of good soon perished, or became tainted, in order to remain existent. I'd left this city after my wounds had healed and signed on with a freelance merchant vessel.

I enjoyed the freedom, the anonymity that came with being at sea. I did not even mind being the sole woman on board, in the company of men. It was easier to be surrounded by those whom I would never desire. Informing them that I had no such desires had been more difficult, but after a few broken noses, blackened eyes, and cracked ribs, I no longer needed to worry. I had earned the crew's respect by working harder and longer than any of them.

I found liberty in the physical labor, raising the sails, hauling up the anchor, running across the decks like a madwoman when the ship was tossed by one of the freak storms that dogged the Waking Sea. Aboard the ship, I could set my mind free. Somehow watching the sunrise, when surrounded by nothing but peaceful waves, truly made the day new. Made me new.

 _It will not last forever,_ I thought, wiping sweat from my brow and raking my hand through the hair I now kept cut short. _As all good things in my life, it will end. But that is all right. I have learned very well how to live a century in a single moment. I have become adept at stealing time._

"Look lively!" the first-mate walked across the deck, bellowing orders for the taciturn captain.

 _The captain that looked at me and pointed to the mask. His first mate asked why I wore it and gave him the half-truth; that I wear it to conceal horrendous scarring from a brawl. Then the captain stood, wrapped his hand around my arm, felt the muscle there, and nodded. I joined the crew that same day._

The first-mate came to stand beside me and looked down to the docks, where two horses moved their way through the crowd of merchants, slaves, and the men and women who made up the city. He glanced at me but did not meet my eyes. Few of the crew did, save for the cabin boy, an orphaned lad of only twelve years. He could look at me…he had not lived long enough or known enough suffering to enter his own hell when he met my gaze.

"You know anything about horses?" the first-mate asked, and I nodded the affirmative, for I still chose to speak as little as possible.

 _Words have always brought pain, and there is enough of that in this world for me. Why bring more hell upon myself? Why suffer further when I am forced to meet the mirror?_

"Good." he nodded. "We're taking those two with us. I've asked the whole damn crew and they're sailors, not farriers. Most times the captain'd make the passengers care for their own animals, but we've been paid good coin to make this trip swift and without issue for them as hired us."

I nodded again, because I could not reply to him with my voice, even if I had I wanted to. In spite of the distance, I recognized the woman astride the bay gelding, the natural ease and grace with which she carried herself. Grace…a trait she embodied, body and soul, fluid and savage like a predator. She lifted her hand and pulled back her hood as she urged her horse up the gangplank and the entirety of the crew stood still as she bared her fiery hair to the light of the sun.

"Eyes on your work you blighted scallywags!" the first-mate's voice boomed. "That bloody anchor won't lift itself, and if you don't get your wits about you it'll be extended shifts, half-rations, and three lashes!"

The threats moved everyone's eyes away but mine. I turned to my work but remained riveted to the woman who dismounted her horse. As I knew she would, she stroked its mane with one hand and its nose with the other, whispering in its ear. The scent of Kirkwall faded as the wind wrapped me in Leliana's aroma. My knees trembled and threatened to buckle as I felt the painful pulse-pang of desire rip through me like the darkspawn blade that pierced my heart. The sweet, gentle perfume of Andraste's Grace flooded through me and my skin came alive as my scars _sang._

I knelt behind a crate so that I could still watch with a lesser chance of being discovered. She could not see me. She could not know that I was here but dear _Maker_ even my lips _ached_ to touch and to taste and to devour what once was mine. My hands trembled, conveying my weakness and my want as my eyes drank her in, painting a picture with which to haunt me for eternity.

Even on my knees I slumped, crossing my arms over my chest, protecting the heart that threatened to break my ribs and scream across the distance that parted us, to wrap itself in its other half. My soul burned with flame and fury and my eyes burned as well, layering my cheeks with tears. The vibrations of the wood beneath me, the echoes of footsteps, became a primal, desperate beating drum and I wanted to break.

 _I am_ _ **human**_ _!_ I screamed inside my mind as every wound to my soul and my psyche ripped open and bled. _I am_ _ **mortal**_ _! I_ _ **want**_ _I_ _ **need**_ _I_ _ **desire**_ _! It isn't worth it! This manner of pain,_ I opened my eyes and stared down at the ring, my marriage vow now stamped permanently in my skin, unable to be removed. I endured the horror of looking at it, while surrounded by Leliana's _smell_ …the Maker and faith be damned. No mortal could bear this. No human could endure it.

I gathered my courage. I had to stand. I had to stand and look at her, had to meet her gaze and hold her and break the vow I had made to myself. I had worn a mask since I had been dragged out of eternity. I would wear it no longer. I did not care whose reality I mangled or whose faith I shattered. Love could repair faith…Leliana's love had granted me faith time and time again when all I had wished to do was surrender.

"Leliana," I heard a voice that I remembered, a voice that had accompanied a haughty sneer, the voice that had taken my wife from my side and forced us both into separate hells. "Leliana, I entreat your forgiveness."

"Oh?" my lips trembled at the lilt of Leliana's voice, the elegant timbre, the perfect pitch, the insouciant indifference.

"I spoke amiss and I have wronged you in some way that I do not know." Cassandra Pentaghast replied and, for a single moment of perfect shock, my heart refused to beat. "You spoke true when you said that you did not owe me that reason. We…we should work together, as Most Holy desires, and the blame for this disagreement rests on my shoulders. However, I ask you to indulge me so that I do not err in this manner again…so that there is less animosity between us."

I heard my once-lover sigh and wanted nothing more than to love her again. Surely she would understand. Surely she would forgive me, as she had forgiven me so many times in the past.

"You spoke to me with Salem's words." Leliana revealed and my heart thrummed in my chest. "It was in those same three words that she gave to me the entirety of her self and her soul and her heart. To hear them from another who uses them as you did, to say something because you felt you _must_ continue speaking, destroys me. Because those words…those words were everything to me."

"I…I understand." shock spindled through me again at the somber, _earnest_ tone of a voice I had known ever to be harsh and arrogant. "I shall not speak so again." the Divine's Right Hand promised. "I can see the pain in your heart, Leliana, and I know there is no set time for one who is bereaved to hold their sorrow. Do you find yourself hurting over her loss still?"

My heart clawed its way into my throat, my chest dared not rise, and my lungs panged. My body trembled with such ferocity I no longer knew if I had the strength to stand. I remained on my knees and lowered my head, baring my neck to the sun and wishing it were the executioner's axe.

"There…there is pain, yes." Leliana answered and I begged the Maker for one reprieve, one chance, one declaration from her supple, prophet's lips. One mercy. One mercy. "But it grows less. If I am to be Most Holy's left hand, then I must forget my past wishes and refuse to entertain thoughts of potential fates. If your concern is that my pain and my loss will affect my work and devotion, then let me put your heart at rest. I set aside my marriage ring, and swore a new vow before Justinia. I believe a great deal in love, Cassandra, but love cannot bring back the dead. Because of that, I have set Salem aside in my heart."

The words struck me like a hammer blow to the back of my skull and even though I felt I should die of heartbreak, in a perverse turn of events I found myself grateful. Grateful that she had allowed her heart to heal. That mattered. That she felt whole enough to sequester her thoughts of me and recall them only when she chose...that meant everything to me. However, I did not know how long I could endure the gaping, bleeding lacerations in my own heart. I could not set Leliana aside, for she _burned_ in me.

My tears turned bitterer than the saltwater of the Waking Sea. I felt as though I stood outside myself and saw the first-mate escort Leliana and Cassandra below deck, to their quarters. I meditated on the gangplank, contemplating running for it and abandoning the ship. I would not attempt rekindle a love that she had already set aside. I would not hurt her, not again, not in the same manner that I once did, during the Blight.

I got to my feet and the ship lurched as the anchor thudded on the deck, wind caught the sails, that the ship left Kirkwall for Ostwick. I stared at the diminishing land, trapped…trapped on a ship with my last love, the woman I wanted, but who no longer wanted me. Breaking her faith meant less to me now than it had just moments before. My desire superseded that level of altruism. My humanity bade me _act_ , faith and faithfulness be damned.

But I…but I…I did not…I could not…I did not have the strength…

…to break her heart.


	28. Chapter 28

**Leliana**

Standing before the sea was one thing, but it felt another thing entirely to be aboard a ship, cradled by the water. It instilled a peace in my soul that had been missing for quite some time. A peace that I had been reminded of when I spoke of Salem to Cassandra. I stood on the prow of the ship, looking towards our destination, remembering another voyage across the Waking Sea to Val Royeaux, a voyage also spent in the company of Cassandra.

 _I wonder what might have happened if Beatrix had not summoned me. I wonder what might have happened if the time I spent with the Seekers in Val Royeaux had instead been spent with Salem. I wonder where I might stand now if her tainted blood had not caused her death._

Once, even whispering Salem's name in my thoughts caused my heart to race and my cheeks to flush, and my gut to twist with grief. Now, however, time had dimmed the pain of those wounds. I spoke truly to Cassandra. I had set Salem aside in my heart, in a place specific to her, where also dwelt honesty, loyalty, peace, and forgiveness. Those were her best traits, traits that she had magnified in me. I loved her and I kept that love cherished and safe. But it no longer ruled my heart. It no longer made me ache in the dark of night when I woke from a dream both sweet and sorrowful. I had survived losing part of my heart.

"I know that look." I turned towards the sound of the voice that lilted with its own cadence, that belonged to no country, but to all of them. "I have seen it upon my own countenance more than once."

I sighed and decided to listen and to speak with her. She had asked for my forgiveness, something that the woman I knew before would never have done. It shocked me to my core when she did not choke on the words she spoke.

"Tell me, what is it that you recognize?" I asked.

"Loss." Cassandra intoned. "Not the loss of something simple, but the loss of something that had a place in your heart, a planted banner, a land in your soul that belonged solely to them. There is a place in your heart that is missing, once fertile soil, now a barren wasteland. The look that scars your features comes in the moments where we stand on the edge of that desert and remember the lush and verdant land that once was."

"Well said." I replied, pleased by the frankness and honesty stamped on Cassandra's severe, stark, and beautiful features. "Do you ever walk through the desert, Cassandra? In hopes, perhaps, to find some remnant that still lives, some beauty that might still exist…that might remain?"

"Every moment that I live." Cassandra acknowledged. "In that desert lies my brother, Antony. I watched him cut down before my very eyes. The speed of my sword, the ferocity of my dedication…those are parts of me that persist in honor of him. They are things that he taught to me, when he could have flung away his little sister after our parents died and our uncle took us in." An expression of delicate wistfulness, longing, and, yes, loss, crossed Cassandra's features. "But he did not. He doted on me, taught me all that he had learned, and I watched him slay dragons and return victorious. I wanted to be like him in every way, for I idolized and loved him."

The Right Hand paused in her tale and I noticed the way in which she held her self. Straight, tall, baring her broad shoulders, her legs apart in a battle-ready stance. But her arms were crossed, not low, beneath her breasts, which would indicate irritation, but over her ample bosom, hands tucked beneath her armpits, protecting her heart.

"I thought he was invincible." her voice dropped and pain filled her cinnamon eyes. "But no. He was as mortal and as human and as fallible as the rest of us. As fallible as I am."

 _The great Cassandra Pentaghast, admitting her fallibility?_ I thought, staring at the woman, knowing that she could see the incredulity stamped on my features.

"There is something you wish to say to me." I spoke the words before I knew in full what I said, speaking with an instinct that I had learned to trust. "And it has nothing to do with loss or the fact that you are attempting to build a bridge between us."

Cassandra breathed deep and a disgusted noise chuffed out of her as she exhaled. "You are a singularly infuriating creature, Leliana Cousland."

I smiled at her. "That will never cease to be the truth." I allowed. "But it makes me no less correct. You have something to tell me, something to confide, and I would hear it, Cassandra. Believe what you may, but I desire to work alongside you without animosity as much as you do. Most Holy asked this of me as surely as she asked it of you, and I owe Justinia…I owe her the life that I now lead."

Cassandra nodded and came to stand beside me, looking out towards the horizon. Her hands reached out and grasped the railing and I saw the myriad, fine scars that decorated her dusky flesh. They were a warrior's hands through and through, and I wondered if Cassandra were capable of possessing a strength akin to Salem's. A strength so devastating and gentle that mountains would fall before a softly spoken word.

"I, too, owe her a life." Cassandra's voice lowered and took on a tone that made the woman seem…almost innocent, almost a young woman again, blinded by naïveté. "I owe her the life of an angry, abusive woman who believed in her righteousness above all else…the life of a woman who believed that a mortal being might speak for the Maker...might be completely honest."

I heard the sorrow etched in Cassandra's voice; felt the energy of her aura, and realized that the woman who spoke to me now was, in truth, not the same woman who had entered my home and taken me away from my wife. She was not the woman who had struck me and called me a heretic, not the woman who despised mages and would rather have killed them than suffer them in this world.

Cassandra had wronged me, yes, and she wronged those that I called friends. She had nearly allowed Kathyra and Rylie to die in a ship not unlike this one. She had drawn her sword against Salem and pressed the blade against my wife's throat. She had been drenched in pride and anger. She had forgotten her humanity.

"Tell me." I offered, honoring my promise to Justinia to _try_ to work in tandem with and alongside Cassandra. "I would know more of the woman standing before me, for she is not the woman I once knew."

Cassandra turned to face me and the wind ruffled her obsidian hair. And then, for a brief moment of suspended time, light entered the cinnamon eyes and the Right Hand's lips quirked up in a flashing smile. In that moment, fleeting as it was, I saw a woman of immeasurable beauty with a potential for kindness and understanding that outstripped all others. Quick as the expression had come, it departed, and Cassandra turned her eyes once more to the sea.

"Two days after I swore my vow, Justinia came to me in my quarters. You know how unprecedented that is…for the Divine to leave the tower?" Cassandra asked and I nodded. The warrior heaved a sigh before continuing, "She told me to sit down; that she had something of the utmost importance to tell me. I thought, at the time, in that moment, that she had found another more suited to acting as her right hand. I thought she meant to strip me of my position. But what she told me was far, far worse. In fact, even the thought of it still haunts me…"


	29. Chapter 29

**Cassandra**

I let the sound of the water lapping at the sides of the boat soothe me, and I looked into the distance. I knew that if I met those piercing ocean blue eyes I would lose my ability to speak about this. For it seemed so…so very lacking when I juxtaposed the story I would tell against Leliana's history. Her history of a love so powerful and strong that it destroyed a Blight and brought the Maker out of silence.

"I loved a man once." I spoke, unable to look back to see her reaction. "I am certain that it will shock you to know that he was a mage." I paused, gathering the composure that still splintered when I spoke of him. "Regalyan D'Marcall. Or Galyan, as I called him. Together we thwarted the coup against Divine Beatrix. He broke through the walls of grief I had built around my heart after losing Antony. And I could have loved him. I would have loved him. I…I wanted to love him."

My voice trailed off and the silence crescendoed around us until I almost could not bear it. I began to turn when a small hand came to rest on my shoulder. I trembled beneath the power that I felt in Leliana's touch.

"What happened, Cassandra?" she asked, her voice the gentlest whisper I had ever heard.

* * *

 _"Cassandra, do loosen your shoulders and sit down." Justinia orders, and though I do not know if I can comply, I attempt do to so, sitting down on the edge of my cot as Justinia takes the single chair in my spartan quarters, her kind blue eyes already ripping me to pieces._

 _"Might I be so presumptuous as to ask why you have come, Most Holy?" I ask, needing to break the silence suspended over us._

 _"Of course you may, my child." Justinia replies. "I heard that several apostates were brought back to the Circle from whence they fled. They were inhabitants of the White Spire, and this their first offense. You were summoned to adjudicate, as the Knight-Commander was away, and you ordered their execution. I should like to know why."_

 _I frown, unsure why she is questioning me. Under Beatrix, I had adjudicated many apostate trials, some ending in the shaving and branding, some ending with the Rite of Tranquility, and others ending in death. This time there had been wounds on the bodies of the mages who fled from the Circle. I could but assume that they had used blood magic when the templars came for them._

 _"They bore the wounds of the maleficar, Most Holy." I answer, confident in my words. "Such a thing cannot be overlooked. They were too dangerous to reintegrate into the population."_

 _Justinia nods and I feel relief, for I believe that this is over. I rise from my seat and take a step when Justinia stands, the sheer power of her presence sending me back into my seat as she approaches me. Her blue eyes look as though they have caught fire and I can see the carefully controlled wrath in her very soul._

 _"Is that so?" she asks. "They bore the wounds of a maleficar?"_

 _"Yes, Most Holy." I reply. "I saw the blood on their clothing and the gashes in their bodies."_

 _"I believe you." Justinia says, vindicating me. "I believe that when you looked at them you saw the wounds of a maleficar. But that, Cassandra, is what you wished to see."_

 _I wish to feel affronted, but I cannot, not before Divine Justinia. "I beg you tell me your meaning."_

 _"I had my personal physician examine the bodies of the mages you ordered killed." Justinia says, and I chafe that she questions my judgement and my decision. "Her report disturbed me. Those 'wounds of the maleficar' as you call them were in fact gashes and lacerations made by the teeth of the hounds the templars used to aid in tracking and subduing them. Not a single cut was made on their bodies by their own hands. They did not turn to blood magic, Cassandra. You took the lives…"_

 _"Of apostate runaways!" I exclaim, rising from my seat once more, this time in indignation. I had done nothing wrong; had not erred in my judgment, and would not be spoken to with the bladed voice issuing from Justinia's lips. "Do you truly think that I have done wrong?"_

 _"Oh, yes." Justinia replies, but there is no anger in her words, simply the truth of them, and that burns me deeper than any other heat. It leaves both a welt and a scar. "You saw what you wished to see, because your mind has been darkened. I have asked and received answers. You have not spoken a kind word to a mage in years. You have not treated them as humans, as the Chant of Light orders. You despise mages, Cassandra."_

 _"I do." I hiss, admitting my prejudice, for it is one in which I feel no shame. "They cannot be trusted. They lie and they deceive, and they attempt to earn confidence only to betray it later. No good can come of showing mercy to a mage. Maker strike me down if ever I let a mage go free who has rebelled against the Chant of Light, who has fled the Circle in the belief that they deserve a life of freedom when they are so obviously a danger that needs be contained."_

 _"I see." Justinia quirks a single snowy eyebrow upward. "I trust you as my Right Hand, Cassandra. But this is not in keeping with the Maker's wish for this world. Why do you treat mages as though they are less than human?"_

 _"Because they are prey to so much greater a temptation." I insist. "They are so weak that they must be guided, and if they fail to follow their guides, then they are a menace and a danger."_

 _"Such vehement words from a woman who once lay with a mage." Justinia's eyes pierce mine and I flinch, frozen in place by the heat and power of her gaze. "Yes, my child." she whispers. "I know. Tell me what happened with him that broke not only your heart, but your mind. He stole your compassion, Cassandra, and your clear vision. How?"_

 _My lips purse. I do not wish to confess this, do not wish to speak of this, do not want to relive the memory of that terrible day. That terrible day when my walls had fully collapsed. It had been two years, two years of building bridges, supervised visits with Galyan in the White Spire that led to us being able to walk outside together, hand in hand, that allowed us freedom to be together in body and soul. We were to meet that day, and I had been near to bursting with the joy of anticipation. My heart had been freed from its grief and its bitterness and I planned to confide that to him…I wanted so very much to love him without reserve…to love him in the way that he loved me._

 _"I was to meet Galyan outside the Spire that day." I swallow the lump in my throat, struggling to meet Justinia's gaze. "When Beatrix summoned me. Her chambers were empty and she…" my voice cracks, even over the memory, "…she had me sit down and told me…she told me that Galyan had been captured while attempting to flee the Circle with his…with his mage lover." My muscles shake and shudder and I clench my hands into fists, struggling to regain my composure. "The templars surrounded him and the man I loved turned to blood magic and became an abomination. The templars struck him down."_

 _There are tears in my eyes and I despise them. I despise myself for loving a man who could give in that quickly. We had laughed and spoken with each other, talked late from the night into the morning of the ways in which we would change the world for the better. We promised each other when we were young, full of vim and vigor, that we would…that we would always have love and trust between us._

 _"And this embittered you against all mages?" Justinia asks. "The actions of one man defined your actions against all other mages for these years, culminating in the deaths of three people who simply desired that the world they live in be different for them. Have you yourself never wished that?"_

 _"I have." I reply, wondering where Justinia is leading me._

 _"And you were able to walk from the life you did not wish to live and change it, were you not?" Justinia's eyes harden and in my spirit I feel the weight of guilt begin to bear down on me._

 _"I was."_

 _"And this, all because you were a woman without magic. Because the world accepts you as you are, for who you are. Yet you stood and saw them wounded and bleeding, cut to pieces by the war hounds that brought them down as the templars used blood forcibly drawn from them to track them like_ _ **animals**_ _." There is heat and righteous anger in Most Holy's voice, and I feel it piercing through me like an earthquake, shaking apart all that I had built within myself._

 _"Do you wish to punish me, Most Holy?" I whisper, wondering if the blood that I ordered shed will be paid for with my own blood, and my dismissal from her service. Perhaps I deserved it, for I could see where Justinia stood but still, I felt as though I had done no wrong._

 _"No, Cassandra." her smile is so kind. "I wish to ask your forgiveness."_

 _My confusion grows as she extends to me a roll of parchment. I take it from her and begin to read the words. Blood drains from my face and my hands turn frigid as I read the single sentence and signature on the parchment._

* * *

 _ **Knight-Commander Raver,**_

 _ **I am ordering the immediate transfer of the mage Regalyan D'Marcall from the White Spire to the Circle in Treviso, the Antivan city near the Rivaini border.**_

 _ **Beatrix III, Divine of Orlais**_

* * *

 _I look up at Justinia, horror stamped upon my face as I feel a terrible weight descend on my shoulders. The weight of lives for whom I am now responsible, the weight of innocents whom I have…I have had slaughtered. All because I believed the woman who called herself "Most Holy"…all because I believed her and did not realize her cruel manipulations or understand the woman that she twisted me into…the woman who could not see that the bites of a dog were_ _ **not**_ _self-inflicted wounds of a maleficar._

 _"He wrote to you, Cassandra." Justinia speaks and I crumple to my knees, a woman lost, a woman broken. "He wrote to you every month for a year, and Beatrix had all of his letters intercepted. She could not allow you to love him, for she believed and decided that you belonged to her. In this moment, as when you swore to me your vow, you see that you wear the stain of another's sins upon your hands and soul. This is not as it should be, but it is written now into history and cannot be changed."_

 _Her words fall on me like blistering rain that peels my skin and leaves me naked, red, and raw out in the cold. I drop the parchment to the floor and huddle into myself, shivering and nauseated by the memories of all the sins I have committed because I allowed my love to turn to bitterness and change me and…and that bitterness that I absorbed into my riven soul had made me a monster._

 _"I thought," the words shiver out of my mouth, cold and tremulous and terrified, "I thought that if…that if a man so good and strong as Galyan had…had become…an abomination…" my words cracked over the lie, "…that no mage…no mage…could ever be…worth saving."_

 _Justinia kneels before me and her eyes are kind and her eyes are soft and they are wet with tears. She is standing with me as my equal, sharing in my grief and I feel in her a mother's spirit. A guide who will be unafraid to tell me the difficult truths…but they_ _ **will**_ _be_ _ **truths.**_

 _"You have a long and difficult road before you, Cassandra Pentaghast." Justinia says and I nod my head, for the first time unashamed that I shed tears before another. "Beatrix deceived you for her own ends and she, I am certain, is paying for her sins in a manner so terrible we cannot conceive. But you must realize and take responsibility for the actions you took when you believed her lie. Take the bitterness that is within you now and shape it into the love that I know it was in the beginning. Believe in the good of the heart of another once more, Cassandra. Do not let Beatrix's lie continue to bind you, hold you, and make you into something that you are not."_

 _"But…" I protest, feeling that I should abdicate my title, for I am so very weak if I were deceived wish such ease._

 _"No, Cassandra." Justinia keeps me from speaking and in her eyes is a fearsome strength and devastating love…an expression I had witnessed but once before, belonging to a Grey Warden who struck me down in the height of my idiocy and insouciance. Justinia directs that look, that_ _ **love**_ _, at_ _ **me**_ _, and I feel so very unworthy. "You still are destined for great things. Do not let anger at yourself become bitterness. Accept your actions this day, but do not repeat them. You have been given time, dear girl. Use it well."_

* * *

When I emerged from the re-telling, I at last looked to Leliana, shocked when I saw tears in her eyes. After all that I had done to her, she had the kindness and purity of heart to weep for me, and to cry for what I had endured. Her hand reached out and in her body and in her hands I could see nothing but comfort and caring offered. Many had made this gesture to me, especially Kathyra, who tried…who tried so hard to steer me in gentler ways. I had rebuffed it each time, disdaining it, believing that I did not need it…that those who offered camaraderie and touch would betray me as quickly as Galyan had…but he had never betrayed me. It had been a lie.

I reached out and took Leliana's hand, feeling its warmth and strength as she squeezed it in deep commiseration, then released it, asking me for nothing and offering all that she possessed. I could still feel the warmth of her skin; it carried lethality and grace, traits that belonged to her and to her warden.

"Did you go to Galyan?" Leliana asked. "With this knowledge, did you go to him?"

"I did." I replied, turning back towards the sea, to the peace I could feel from it. "But that is a story for another time."

"A time with wine and firelight?" the former bard asked, and I smiled, shaking my head.

"Yes." I allowed. "Wine and firelight. I shall take you up on that offer."


	30. Chapter 30

**Leliana**

I sighed as I stared down, ruing the crimson liquid resting in the bottom of my glass. I had not the slightest idea of what it might be, but it was certainly _not_ what I desired, or what the barkeeper described it to be. At least the stew that I had been served both appeared and smelled edible.

"I've yet to see your nose _not_ in a persistent state of wrinklement when it comes to eating the food you are served." Cassandra said, her voice dark and smoky, but her manner seemed light, judging by the quirking of her lips that, for the severe woman, was the most beaming of smiles.

I raised the cup that held the source of my consternation. "My kingdom for a sip of good wine." I claimed, and Cassandra quirked her lips again as she sat down.

"What kingdom, pray tell?" she asked. "That statement is more befitting of me, as you have been so kind to remind me every moment that you can."

"So we are still nettled about that?" I quipped, hiding my smile with the cup of vinegar…for it most certainly was _not_ wine.

"I am the Right Hand of the Divine." Cassandra's eyes sparked. "I find it demeaning to be summoned from the opposite end of the ship by you sing-songing the word ' _princess'_."

"It is accurate, no?" I asked, unable to keep from teasing her, as I had been for the entirety of the two day voyage, once serious conversation between us had ceased and the confused, awkward silence began again. "With the state of Nevarran politics, the myriad coups and lightning quick successions, I fear you may soon be summoned to take your throne…" I paused, letting her think I had finished. "…Princess."

Somehow, even with a mouthful of stew, Cassandra managed to make a disgusted noise. She swallowed and pointed her spoon at me as though it were a dagger.

"Between the two of us, it is _you_ who have actually held a title and served as liege lord over a territory." she groused, falling back on the truth and its semantics as she always did…for I did not believe the woman knew how to tease.

 _It is either that she possesses no humor or that she will not countenance acting and speaking such a way in the presence of those who_ _ **might**_ _have an inkling of who she is. I can see that she has changed from the Cassandra that I knew in the time of Divine Beatrix, but I am uncertain that she knows quite who she is as of yet._

"Incorrect." I took a sip of vinegar and grimaced. "The nearest I came to _honest_ political power was the forging of Salem's signature." I lifted my spoon to my lips, blowing on the stew to cool it before catching a glimpse of the snide incredulity stamped on Cassandra's features. "You poor woman," I shook my head, "you actually believe I'm leading you on."

Cassandra's brows lifted as she processed my words with a keen and analytical mind that I had begun to understand. Her lips parted, then closed; parted, then closed, then parted.

"You are…you are serious?" she asked.

I nodded. "Towards…" a wave of grief took me unaware as they sometimes did, even years removed from Salem's loss, "…towards the end of her life, Salem wanted to be among her people. To remember what it was to live…she placed her people above her paperwork, and I found it the smallest of favors to affix her signature to a legal document when needed."

"You…" Cassandra paused, a light entering her eyes that I did not quite comprehend, for I had never seen her wear this expression. "…you gave her the life she desired…and she spent it with her people?" she asked. "She did not spend it with you, her lover, the woman who defied the Divine and the Chantry in order to be with her?"

Cassandra's query did not surprise me, but the manner in which she asked it did. Both of her hands were on the table, supporting her as she subtly leaned forward, a physical sign of abject interest. Cassandra was not merely biding the time with conversation. She truly wanted to know the answer to her question…and I found myself wanting to know why she would desire that. It could not be that she harbored any interest in Salem, for my warden had beaten her bloody, insulted her leadership, and despised her. The Cassandra of that time, however, had warranted such disdain.

"Cassandra, to whom do we belong?" I asked, hoping that she would be patient enough to follow the words I spoke, which would lead to the answer she desired.

"We are free women, but if you speak of the one to whom our service belongs, then it is Most Holy." Cassandra answered, her strong brows lowering and pressing together.

"And before, as a Seeker?" I pressed my inquiry further.

"To the Order and the Chant of Light." Cassandra replied.

"Exactly that." I smiled both from memories and the confused expression swirling in Cassandra's eyes, which, in the low lighting of the tavern, looked like fine whiskey, deep, mellow, lovely, with a bite one did not soon forget. "You belonged to those whom you served." I continued. "Salem ended a Blight…she belonged to all of Thedas."

"Then your love?" Cassandra asked. "Was it enough for you? Or, after the life you have led and the punishment you have endured, were you content with the dregs of a woman that Thedas drank dry?"

Cold bitterness lay in her words and I wondered why a woman who had attempted to be nothing but amicable for the entirety of our journey now showed this face to me. Perhaps she was seeking more from these questions than even I realized; than even her body and her words were conveying to me.

I shook my head and saw once more the spark of interest in Cassandra's whiskey eyes. "Salem belonged to Thedas, Cassandra, but she did not leave me the dregs of herself." I spoke, my tone harder and harsher than I intended, for I still did not countenance any slight against the woman I once loved. "Salem gave herself all to the world, but she reserved the best parts of herself for me."

A single, obsidian brow raised in an elegant arch. "Oh?"

"I saw the woman who laughed." I closed my eyes and my mind repainted pictures of the beauty my life once possessed. "I saw the woman who _danced_. In my arms alone did she weep, and thus, the world that needed her strength never saw her tears."

"Your lover gave you tears." Cassandra almost sneered, but in her words there was also a question and a wonderment. "How does this bring you joy? How does this make you say that the best parts of herself were reserved for you?"

"Do not all of us bear some secrets, Cassandra?" I asked. "Do we not all hold some part of ourselves hostage, scared and sacred within us? When love in its truth is present, we free that portion of ourselves, and find our sacred trust returned."

"And your warden…" Cassandra trailed off and lifted her drink, staring at it so that she did not meet my gaze.

"Held sacred her pain." I filled the silence. "Just as I held sacred my fear."

"Fear and pain." Cassandra scoffed. "What beautiful voids to fill in one another." I could hear the disappointment in her tone, but she had not allowed me to finish.

"Yes, I gave her my fear." I smiled. "And she filled me with her strength. She gave me her pain, and I gave her all the love I could muster."

Cassandra looked up from her glass. "That is love then?" she asked. "To trust another, not only to take your burdens, but to give you what you need in place of those burdens. Strength for fear. Love for pain. This is love?"

"This is love, in the manner that I have had love defined to _me_." I told her. "Every love is like every sunrise; each morn is painted with similar hues, but no dawn is the same."

In that moment, as I spoke those words, I saw what I believed to be the true heart of Cassandra Pentaghast. Her severe, refined features softened and the lines of age at the corners of her eyes all but disappeared as her gaze went distant. Her lips were tender, flush, tremoring the slightest bit. In the amber whiskey of her eyes I saw the plaintive longing of a young woman…I knew that young woman.

 _I_ _ **was**_ _that young woman. I recognize the look on Cassandra's face because I have_ _ **worn**_ _that look. I found it stamped on my face the night after I first met a woman named Marjolaine. All I knew was desire. All I wanted was to be caught in her whirlwind and have her love me. Cassandra is asking these things of me because Salem drew her blades against the Divine's right hand. Salem would have sacrificed everything for love and this woman..._

 _Cassandra…_

"You speak like a poet, Leliana." Cassandra said, soft.

 _…wants nothing but to_ _ **love**_ _and to be_ _ **loved.**_

"In another life, that is what I was, Cassandra." I murmured.

 _In another life I was so many things. There are some of those things that I long to be again. Alas,_ I looked up as the tavern door swung wide, admitting a gaggle of chattering men and women, all between twenty and twenty-five years, by my estimate, _those are things I shall never be._


	31. Chapter 31

**Cassandra**

I followed Leliana's eyes to the people who had entered the tavern, wondering what it was this time that drew the woman's gaze. At several times aboard the ship, her eyes had gone distant and she had focused on something that I could not understand until she explained to me what captivated her. During the voyage here, she'd looked most often to the crow's nest, at the tall sailor silhouetted by the sun. Her lips had pursed and her brow furrowed and when I asked what troubled her, she revealed that the sailor in the crow's nest had remained there for the entire voyage, descending not even for meals.

 _Though I still have no manner of knowing_ _ **why**_ _that particular detail was important to her. However, the Right Hand possesses different skills than the Left. Leliana is trained to notice such things, weave disparate details together into a tapestry of sense and facts and information. Those are not my gifts, but they are hers, and they are as necessary as leading a charge against an enemy encampment and defending a life with the sword._

"Does something trouble you?" I asked, morphing a stretch into a casual turn so that I could look in the direction she did without drawing undo attention to my position and actions.

Leliana gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head. "Look at the ones who just entered." she kicked her chin in the direction of the ten or so men and women who swarmed the bar. "They are obviously regular patrons here, as one can tell by their familiarity with the bartender and the servers. Examine them and tell me what you see."

Somewhat frustrated by the turn of our conversation, but allowing it to be, I did as Leliana asked me. I watched the crowd, seeing a stoop in their shoulders and a sweat-sheen on their tanned faces that belied manual labor. Their clothes were inexpensive, though sturdy, but obviously lived and worked in. There were several stains on each garment, most notable were the black smears on the sleeves of several of the patrons, the men in particular. Their boots were all leather, well-worn but also cared for, as I could tell by the patches.

"Were I to make a guess, I would say that they are dockworkers." I observed. "Their sleeves bear the black streaks of tar used on the ships and they seem tired from heavy lifting. Their hands are callused and their speech is rough. There are perhaps two or three among them educated enough to read." I gathered as I saw two faces looking to the menu behind the bar, then turning and relaying information to their comrades.

"All correct." Leliana confirmed. "Except for one."

"Oh?" I looked into the center of the crowd, wondering if there was someone I had missed in the ever-moving throng.

"Not there." Leliana told me. "Leaning against the wall, outside of the heart of the crowd."

I looked to the wall and saw the woman Leliana spoke of, but witnessed nothing that distinguished her from the rest of the dockworkers, save that she seemed to have slightly more energy and perhaps a stronger back, as her shoulders were not as worn as her fellows.

"I see no difference." I said, unashamed of doing so, because I knew this sort of thing was exactly what Justinia had desired.

For us to work together in unison. That desired unison required more than knowing the other's name and their skills. It required a knowledge of how we thought, the processes of our minds, and the things that we kept secret in our heart. It required more than either of us were willing to give one another at this point. But, perhaps, that time between us would come. We seemed to at least be working towards it, and to accomplish the goal that Justinia set for us…I would even endure being chidingly called " _princess_ ".

"Examine the manner in which she holds herself." Leliana advised me, her voice soft, but more than capable of being heard. "Her arms are crossed and she rests all her weight on one leg, with the other propped up. She is hiding something, but she is not worried about what she hides. The material of her clothing is of a much finer weave than the others, and the stains at her sleeves, while black, are the stains of ink, not tar. Her boots are patched, but the patches are unnecessary, as the leather is new. She has simply let the original polish fade, but those boots are not over a year old. During that time," Leliana paused, guiding my vision to the woman's one raised foot, "they have been worn in an activity that, I would hazard, none of these dockworkers have ever indulged in. Do you see the creasing in the boot, between the toe and the heel, almost, but not quite, in the center?"

"Yes." I murmured, looking down at my own boots and noting very similar creases; remembering how they came to be stamped into the leather. "No mere dockworker would own a horse." I spoke and Leliana smiled as her eyes caught fire. "Nor would they ride another's horse long enough to gather creasing in their boots from…"

"Standing in the saddle and holding one's self in the stirrup while firing a bow, or a great deal of riding in general." Leliana finished my sentence. "Which would make her…"

"Either a soldier, a hunter, or a mercenary." I surmised. "Perhaps a blend of all, if her clothing is of more expensive make. It would also explain her ease in a tavern such as this, where the exorbitantly wealthy would not dare set foot, as well as her comfort in associating with dockworkers."

"Perhaps." Leliana smiled. "Were it not for the one detail that binds her image together."

"What detail is that?" I inquired, almost eager in this lesson, seeing how one trained in secrecy, subterfuge, and manipulation could discover pertinent information while doing nothing but eating in a tavern.

"The one I first mentioned." Leliana propped her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together, watching me as I watched the stranger. "That she conceals something, but that she is unworried about its concealment. Soldiers have secrets, yes, but there is only one station that possesses secrets, that hides, and that is absolutely insouciant in that hiding. They do not care if their secrets are discovered because…"

I followed where she led me and snapped my eyes toward my counterpart. "You are telling me that this woman is a noble?" I inquired. "Only a noble would be uncaring if their secrets were discovered, because they have power to make the repercussions of that secret vanish."

"Bravo, Cassandra." Leliana grinned, but in her tone and eyes there lay no teasing. "I know that, as a Seeker, you know what it is to find the secrets of the souls and hearts of men." She said. "But I can guarantee that knowing what to look for on the outside of a man will help you expedite your search. No matter what many may say, speed and surety need not be exclusive. I have told you what I see. With that knowledge, tell me now what you discern."

I looked toward the woman once again, willing her to glance up and see me. It took but a moment, and our eyes met, a similar shade, though hers were much lighter. They were the shade of champagne, a color that I had seen once before, at the Holy Palace in Val Royeaux on the day when Justinia had been named the Divine before all of Thedas. There had been a family there that had made a laborious, long-winded oath to serve the Maker, the Divine, and the Chantry; a family that had stepped forward in their entirety; a mother, father, and four adult children…this woman had not been among them, but the pale skin, raven hair, and champagne eyes did not lie.

"She is a Trevelyan." I whispered the name of one of the noble families here in Ostwick, a noble family famous for ignoring its people in favor of service to the Maker…though Beatrix had always been willing to send templars to their estates when ire rose against them, because they truly did give their _all_ to the Chantry. I glared at Leliana. "But you knew that already, did you not?"

The former bard nodded. "I remember the same as you, I am sure." She said. "The family bedecked in finery and jewels whose gifts to Justinia rivaled the cost of those given by Empress Celene." Leliana reminded me. "The question is…who is this one, whose features are unmistakable, but who was not presented before Most Holy?"

"A black sheep perhaps?" I wondered, thinking of how my swearing my life to the Order of Seekers, though a member of Nevarran royalty, had made me very much the same.

"I would agree with that assumption." Leliana replied. "Now, I simply want to know why."

"So long as you remember that a possible fifth Trevelyan child is _not_ the reason we are here." I reminded her, but attempted to keep my tone gentle. I had enjoyed peaceful conversations with her thus far, and wished to know more of that peace.

"I recall." Leliana smiled. "But our purpose for being here does not arrive until tomorrow. I think I will let the solving of this mystery occupy my evening."

"Blighted fucking mongrels!" the door burst open with a shout and the tavern filled with more people and the thickening of the air that always preceded the shedding of blood. "What right have you to steal coin out from under our fucking noses!?"

"Or," I said, conversational, as Leliana and I stood together and my hand fell to my sword, "we could occupy our evening with a horrifically plebian bar brawl."

Wicked blue eyes flashed to mine and Leliana's dexterous hands disappeared inside her sleeves and the smile that she wore unnerved me in ways I could not name.

Her voice shivered down my spine, chilling me. "Oh yes, let's."


	32. Chapter 32

**Leliana**

The air turned thick and the world seemed to slow down, as it always did for me in times of battle. My eyes flicked and darted, sizing up both groups. I saw no shivs, no daggers, no naked blades. I pulled my knives from their hidden sheathes and flipped them back, arming myself with the dull pommel and holding the blade carefully against my forearm. I would not needlessly kill or maim an unarmed opponent.

Cassandra did the same as I, relinquishing the hilt of her sword and donning her gloves instead. The leather had been fortified around the knuckles and, having faced the woman in single combat, I knew that any who received her fist would not long be standing. All of this passed in the space of a breath and the chaos began.

I fell to my knees as the first chair went flying overhead, clattering into a mountain of a man who roared and got to his feet, throwing the chair back into the frenetic throng of exchanged blows, shouted curses, and bombastic threats of what one would do to another. I allowed myself to forget my thoughts and dive into the fray, a necessity now instead of a precaution, if only to preserve oneself.

"Leliana!" Cassandra shouted my name and I saw a man lumbering for her, his eyes wide and spittle dripping from his beard.

From my position near the ground, I swept out my leg as Cassandra grabbed her bowl of stew. He tripped over my leg and fell forward, his arms flailing. Cassandra stepped out of his way with artful grace, her hand still holding the bowl of stew, extending it so that the man's face fell into the hot broth as he crashed to the floor. The Right Hand and I both winced at the sound of cracking porcelain, but we had taken one of the brawlers out of commission.

It took Cassandra and I that split moment to realize that we could end the fight near as quickly as it began. I stayed low, striking at the tangling legs of the combatants while Cassandra would deliver a disorienting blow from above. We worked in an eerie tandem, following our instincts and finding, to our great surprise, that in a fight we moved from one decision to the next with a fluidity and similarity that was unnerving.

We tuned out the shouts and the screams, concentrating on the fight, stopping only when we heard the sound of a bottle shattering and strangled cry of pain…a woman's voice raised in shock and agony. I rose to my full height, flipping my blades in my hands, listening to the rasp of Cassandra's sword leaving its sheath. The crowd seemed to quiet and I felt a warmth and solidity at my back, the broad shoulders and heavy musculature of Cassandra Pentaghast.

We walked step for step, back to back, into the center of the room. Save for the moans and groans of the wounded, the brawl had ended. Men and women both got to their feet and ran for the door and those that dallied made haste when the bartender moved from behind the bar, backing Cassandra's sword and my knives with a sizable wooden club.

"Leave your gold on the bar." He ordered, his voice quiet, but holding the same power as another voice I once knew. The power to speak soft and command a nation. "For if you don't, you'll not be welcome here again. We're all free men, but you do not abuse those freedoms in the place of another man's livelihood."

More shuffling, groaning, and staggering followed his words, but I watched with interest as every man and woman who had taken part in the brawl, who had flung their fist and kicked their leg placed coin on the bar, to pay for the damage that they had done. My cheeks still flushed from the exertion, and remembering the teasing of earlier, I slipped one blade back into its sheath and, using my situation to my advantage, deftly picked Cassandra's pocket, withdrawing two gold sovereigns and flipping them through the air so that they landed on the bar.

 _I wonder how long it will take her to notice,_ I thought as I watched her, her features severe and her whiskey eyes glowing with battle-fever. _And how many shades of crimson will she turn when she discovers that she paid my portion of the damage to this establishment…as well as her own?_

In my mind, I smiled, but my face remained impassive, due to the study of such things across entire years of my life. I had learned to show nothing on the outside, but allowed myself to feel everything internally. No matter how much she hurt me, how much she forced me to endure, Marjolaine had never been able to remove my deeper emotions. She had never been able to make me wall off and suffocate my heart in the manner that she had murdered her own.

 _Once, I thought I failed her, because I could not learn such things. But with the life I have led…how glad I am that I failed. For it was a heart fully capable of feeling that knew the love of Salem Cousland. A heart fully capable of trust that let Kathyra take my hand and help me heal from the loss of the second half of my soul. Never, in my young years, did I believe I would cherish my failure. Oh, how wrong I was._

The crowd thinned, leaving the tavern all but empty, and a sharp, easily recognized scent struck through the air, causing Cassandra and I to turn to one another. Metallic, like copper and strong like salt, we both knew the scent of blood…quite a lot of blood. We turned towards the scent and saw the bartender standing between a crumpled figure on the ground and three haggard, dirty men with lank hair, sunken cheeks, and the manic glare of desperation in their eyes.

All three had clenched fists, prepared to fight, and the man in the center held a broken bottle, its blisteringly sharp, jagged edges dripping with thick, red blood.

"Just back away." the man in the center ordered. "Our fight's not with you."

"Not in my establishment." the bartender shook his head and stood his ground, though I noticed his club had vanished from his hands. "I'll ask you to leave and not return."

"Give her up and we will." the man swung the bottle and the bartender moved back, but not fast enough, as the tip of the glass cut a shallow furrow across his chest.

We did not breathe a word, nor need to look at each other. In that moment, Cassandra and I both acted. She charged forward, grabbing the two unarmed men by their shirts and wrenching them backwards. Trusting her to manage them, I slipped between the bottle-wielder and the bartender, grabbing the man's wrist and snapping it backward. My gut clenched as it always did when I heard and felt the fracture of bone beneath my hand, followed by the scream of pain and the stream of curses that followed.

"I believe the gentleman asked you to leave his establishment." I said, watching Cassandra box the ears of one man while standing on the neck of the other, keeping him pinned to the floor. The man I held parted his lips and I twisted his wrist a tiny amount, making him wail. "You've interrupted the first decent meal my friend and I have had in two days, but I am feeling a touch of generosity left within me." I hardened my eyes and my voice and saw terror and wrath paint his eyes. "Leave _now_ and I will let you keep your _life_." I hissed.

In unison, I released his broken wrist and Cassandra removed her boot from the neck of one and her hands from the throat of the other, and the three of them scrambled away, smart enough to avoid the large pile of coin still remaining on the bar.

"I'm grateful." the bartender said, nodding at us as Cassandra rejoined me. "If I can beg your aid a moment more."

He turned aside and I saw the young woman that Cassandra and I had been observing before the brawl broke out. I knew she must be a child of the Trevelyan family, for the eyes were unmistakable, but still remained the mystery of why she came to a tavern frequented by manual laborers and common folk. However, those questions would have to be put aside.

The right side of her shirt was soaked with blood, her face pale and tight, even her lips lacking color. She sat up, supported by the bar, but I could see her eyelids fluttering. She needed immediate attention and I breathed a prayer of thanks to the Maker for Kathyra, who had seen to it that I had everything necessary to treat an injury.

"Cassandra, go to the room and get my satchel." I gave the order without thinking, and the Seeker followed it without so much as a noise of disgust or an argument. I looked to the bartender, and the few patrons who, like Cassandra and I, had rented a room above the tavern for the evening. "Do you have a private room?" I asked. "Somewhere with a fire?"

"The kitchen." he knelt down and scooped the woman up in his brawny arms as though she weighed nothing. "I'll go for a healer but she…she doesn't look good. Do you…"

"I live with a physician." I said, and saw relief take over his features. "And know a great deal about caring for wounds. My companion will be here soon with a healer's kit."

The bartender laid the young woman on top of a table and she moaned, moving her left hand and clutching the blood-stained right side of her body, beneath her right arm. I knew that would be where the pain was worst, but I could see the gaping wound stretching across her bicep as well, ugly and deep. I pushed the table closer to the roaring fire, remembering another cleared table, another fire, and another injured woman…my wife. My Salem. Tortured for my sake. I would have given anything to know that night all that I knew now of healing.

However, this time was not that time, and I had much to do in this moment. I pushed my thoughts of the past away and focused on the immediate necessities.

"She's lost a lot of blood." I observed. "Can you fetch a blanket to cover her, and a pillow for her head? She needs to be kept warm and to move as little as possible."

"Right away." the bartender left and I met the younger woman's champagne eyes.

"I know you are in pain," I kept my voice even, low, soothing, "but I need you to slow your breathing. Can you do that?"

I received a weak nod, but better that response than no response. She looked very much on the verge of shock, and I wished to prevent that if I could. To that end, I grabbed a burlap sack of potatoes and set it on the table, using it to prop up the woman's legs, so that what blood she had left might more easily flow to her heart.

 _Maker, help me_. I breathed a silent prayer as Cassandra entered the kitchen, handed me my satchel, and positioned herself on the opposite side of the table.

"My hands are yours." the Nevarran accent sounded tighter than normal. "Direct them as you need."


	33. Chapter 33

**Cassandra**

The door to the kitchens swung open and I flinched at the sound, hoping Leliana would not notice my reaction. There were many things that I wished to change between us, but I did not want to be seen as a coward who could not provide aid to the injured. I would force myself to ignore the past and do what needed to be done. I did not know the young woman bleeding on the table, but that did not matter. Life was life, and it was sacred in the eyes of the Maker.

The bartender held a thick, woolen blanket out to me and I took it, draping it over the young woman's legs and across her torso, lifting her shirt out of the way. It would have to be removed.

 _There is so much blood,_ my stomach clenched as my knuckles brushed the crimson, drenched material. _There is too much blood. Leliana, I know you have some skill with healing, but this is…this is a woman who, if on the field of battle, would be left behind in favor of those who_ _ **might**_ _be saved._

I watched Leliana work with a calm efficiency that staggered and impressed me. She reached into her pack, laying out bandaging, a leather case that held a variety of small knives and other implements that I had never before seen. Small vials and canisters of herbs and salves were next, as well as a spool of fine black silk and needles that had been bent into a curve. My throat tightened and the scent of blood nauseated me. I could bear it on the field of battle, or on the tournament grounds, but in this place, knowing that life and death waged war above the wounded, I became weak.

"Cassandra," Leliana's voice called me back into the place I did not wish to be, but would not leave, "hold her hand. Keep her awake and talking. If she falls unconscious, we might not be able to pull her from that sleep."

 _Antony,_ I remembered the voice of the child I once was speaking my brother's name, clinging to his hand as people shouted and screamed above me, attempting desperately to stop the blood that poured in rivers from my brother's body. _Antony, don't leave me. Please come back, brother,_ _ **please!**_

My own hand trembling, I grasped the hand of the injured young woman, struggling to maintain composure when I felt the chill beneath her skin. Her head turned and her eyes fell on mine. I saw in the light amber color a woman who had not known any great physical trial, a woman who had never before been here, and who was terrified.

"I'm called Cassandra." I spoke, keeping my voice low, holding the woman's eyes and ignoring Leliana as much as I could. "Might I have the pleasure of your name?"

"T…Tristan." She answered, her voice quivering as she shivered from the blood loss. "M…my name is…Tristan."

"Cassandra, hold her shoulders." Leliana ordered, soft, and my hands moved to the woman's collarbones as, from the corner of my eye, I watched Leliana lift a bottle of wine.

"What is she doing?" Tristan's eyes were wide and full of fear.

I, too, was afraid, but I could not afford to show that. I had to be able to calm this woman, to keep her at peace so that her life might be saved. I remembered the voyage back to Val Royeaux from the Ferelden city of Amaranthine. I had cursed the name of Salem Cousland, Leliana's wife, the woman who had beaten me into unconsciousness and ordered that I heal in the natural way. After that curse, for the first time in our acquaintance, Kathyra had struck me across the face. I remembered the words she said to this day.

 _Every scar on your body belongs to you, Cassandra Pentaghast,_ the fiery physician claimed. _Each wound that you suffered was earned, taken by you, for punishment or mistakes that rest on_ _ **your**_ _shoulders. I saw the body of Salem Cousland. It is more scar than flesh, and the scars she carries are marks of selflessness and sacrifice. So few were taken in battles that she fought for herself alone. Not all wounds have honor, Cassandra, and it would behoove you to remember that._

"She is going to clean your wound." I spoke, wondering if Tristan's wound was one of honor, or one that came simply because she stood in the wrong place in the wrong moment.

 _But the men who remained behind…they demanded that the bartender cease protecting her. If she_ _ **is**_ _a Trevelyan, as we suspect, then the entirety of the brawl might have been motivated by something neither Leliana nor I have knowledge of._

"This will hurt, Tristan." Leliana spoke. "No matter how much you wish to hold your breath, you _must_ continue to breathe. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." the woman nodded, and I wanted to know where the bravery in her voice originated, so that I might gather courage of my own.

Leliana's eyes caught mine and they burned with a light that I had oft seen in Kathyra's gaze…the manic light of one who had communed and crossed swords with death. I did not know how the woman standing across from me, the left hand to my right, could endure the sights, sounds, and smells required to be experienced by one aiding the injured. If she had seen her lover and wife torn open so many times, how did she separate herself in her mind from the trauma of those times? How did she remain capable of acting in the manner that she did now?

 _Whatever this strength of hers may be, this is something that Justinia wanted me to see…to see and perhaps, one day, if the Maker is kind, be capable of emulating._

"Hold her, Cassandra." Leliana ordered and I placed a light amount of weight on Tristan's shoulders as Leliana lifted a bottle of wine that the bartender had laid on the table along with the blanket.

The former bard splashed the wine into the wicked wound beneath Tristan's right arm, a smooth laceration through which I could see the fibers of neatly sliced muscle. I averted my eyes from the sight, unable to bear the memories it conjured. I pressed more of my weight on Tristan's shoulders as she tried to twist, to cover the wound and protect it. Her eyes went bright with pain and her lips parted in a scream that turned into a wail as she lost breath.

"Stop holding your breath." Leliana ordered her, the gentle Orlesian accent colder than steel, making this the second time in my life that I had been terrified of the diminutive, red-haired woman. "I know it hurts so badly that you _want_ to lose consciousness, but your selfishness could endanger you. Breathe, stay awake, and when I am finished I will give you something for the pain."

Tristan's eyes flared but she did inhale and I could feel her muscles forcibly relaxing beneath my hands. I watched as the clenched and leaping muscle in her jaw smoothed, pulsing every now and again as Leliana continued cleaning the wound. I relaxed a minor amount, for now the pervading scent was that of the wine, not spilled blood, making it easier for me to focus on this moment. The memories that waited in the dark of my mind, lurking with talons and claws to drag my consciousness back into the worst moment I lived through, calmed.

Leliana held a needle to the firelight and slipped a strand of silk through the eye of it, knotting the thread at the end. She cursed as she examined the wound.

"I despise glass." She murmured, and Tristan's eyes darted in Leliana's direction.

"What…what's wrong?" the woman's voice sounded weaker than it had, and I began to worry.

 _This is not the way in which I perceived this day would unfold,_ I thought. _If we lose her, and she_ _ **is**_ _a Trevelyan, which she will likely_ _ **not**_ _confirm while being treated in a tavern kitchen by two utter strangers, then our mission here will take a turn for the worse. We cannot be discovered or our informant will not show…why, Maker? Is it too much to ask that we might have a single thing go right?_

"Glass leaves too clean a cut." Leliana explained. "It makes it exceedingly difficult to re-knit the muscle and the skin, and it takes longer for the scar to form. I know very little of the Ostwick Circle…do you think perhaps…"

"No." Tristan shook her head and sweat-soaked, raven hair splashed across her fine, aristocratic features. No one could deny that she was a beautiful woman. "No magic."

"You don't understand." Leliana argued her point. "I can stitch your wound and stop the bleeding, but it might take months for you to recover, and you might not heal properly. A mage could…"

"Could get me disowned." Tristan's eyes cleared and she attempted to sit up, stopped by my hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down against the pillow. "You do not understand, milady. I'm a Trevelyan…"

"A child of one of the ruling families in Ostwick." Leliana raised a single brow and Tristan's eyes widened. "I am quite aware."

"You're Orlesian." The young noble observed. "How would you know…"

"I am much more than simply an Orlesian." Leliana smiled. "If you wish to keep talking, do so, but I demand that you remain still. If you will not allow the services of a mage healer, then I must stitch the wound and keep you from losing more blood and to attempt to mend the torn muscle."

Tristan winced as Leliana pushed the needle through the damaged skin. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, allowing the largesse of the pain to dissipate before she spoke once more.

"If my father, mother, brothers or sisters see the hand of a mage upon me," she hissed as Leliana drew the first stitch tight, "then I will be cast out into the streets and disowned." I could see the pain in her gaze and extended my hand to her. She grasped my hand within her own and squeezed, managing her pain as best she could. "Magic…is a…direct affront…to the Maker."

"I can tell by the derision in your tone that you yourself do not believe such a thing." Leliana observed, her eyes not straying from her work, and I wondered how she could have heard anything in Tristan's tone but the woman's _obvious_ agony.

"What I think…does not matter. But..." Tristan groaned. "...I _must_ …do all I am able...to keep…what little I have…to help the people…where I can."

"Oh?" I asked, intrigued as to what she meant. "What manner of help do you offer by disguising yourself as a dockworker and getting scored by glass in a bar brawl?"

Fire struck in the young woman's eyes, a fire that once dwelt in my eyes before Beatrix chained it to her uses. I had noticed sparks of that flame once again resurfacing. I wondered what it would be like to burn once more as I had in the old way, fierce in my conviction but…but tempered with love and understanding. A love that Beatrix had replaced with pride. An understanding that she had undercut with false surety.

"The dockworkers formed," Tristan drew a sharp breath as Leliana pulled another stitch tight, "a coalition…to protect themselves, see? They band together to make certain…that the merchant's guild pays them a fair wage...allows them time to recover from…minor illnesses…and the like. The new chief of the merchant's guild is refusing to honor the contract drawn up by the coalition."

"So the dockworker's coalition has refused to work." Leliana made a statement, following Tristan's tale to its conclusion.

"Yes." Tristan nodded, keeping her white-knuckled grip on my hand, causing me to admire the way that she focused beyond her pain…there were few nobles who knew great infirmities of the body. Most often they whinged and whined and cowered in the face of injury or illness. "So the merchant's guild found others…willing to work at a fraction…of the cost. The dockworker's coalition appealed…they appealed to my fucking family."

Leliana's eyes narrowed as she wiped at her forehead with the back of her arm, leaving a streak of blood, making her look like the barbarians of old. "And your family…"

"Did…fuck-all." Tristan gasped and her eyes rolled back as Leliana took several curved needles and threaded them into the woman's flesh to hold the cleanly sliced edges of skin together where the gash was widest, so that her stitches would be accurate and Tristan heal faster.

"You're doing well." Leliana encouraged her as I remained silent, letting sweat of my own run down my face. Not sweat of exertion or of pain, but of old fears revisited and ancient traumas flashing behind my eyes like waking nightmares. "Keep speaking. Why did your father and mother refuse to hear the coalition's appeal?"

"Because...they were…doing the Maker's work." Tristan bit off the words and I could see in her eyes that the sentence she spoke placed her in more pain than the tear in her flesh. "My…my personal servant told me…and showed me the complaint…written and signed by the leaders of the coalition… _Andraste's_ _ **ass!**_ That hurts."

"I know." Leliana said nothing more.

I could not see her eyes, but I wondered if they, too, held nightmares. The memories of seeing one she loved torn open time and time again for a world that was more than unforgiving. I wondered if I would see the demons of fear and anguish that she fought as she laced the needle through the skin over and over again. Or if I would see the sorrow of lost love…sweet memories of mending the woman and warrior who had, I could now admit, mended the world.

"I was a fool." Tristan continued her story, needing the distraction from the pain. "I took the appeal to my father. He was with…the Revered Mother…speaking of some great plan for city-wide self-flagellation...or something of that nature, equally horrific I'm sure." the derision in the young noble's voice stung and I saw hatred burning in her gaze. "He cast the parchment into the flames and ordered me from his sight, saying that when he saw the heathens making themselves obeisant before their Maker, appealing to God before man, he would aid them."

Leliana shook her head in disapproval and I pinched my eyes shut, breathing deep past the shame that bloomed in my spirit. I had been manipulated into being so ignorant and intractable of a person. I had been led to the proverbial slaughter of my own conscience, trusting another's faith before my own, allowing another's belief to guide me, and I would live out the rest of my days making amends to those I had hurt during those times. The fact that I had been used did not mean that my hands were clean. It meant only that more work lay ahead for me, to clean my own hands, and to make certain that they were never used in such a way again.

"And you chose to see what was happening?" I inquired, my interest piqued by the young woman who would defy her noble family.

"I'm not a shit noble." She gritted her teeth and spoke in a vernacular that even the oft-mocked rulers of the Free Marches tended to abstain from, in attempt to grant them more credibility. "Just a shit Trevelyan."

"You are not given to ceaseless worship of the Maker, I gather?" Leliana asked, a smile perched on her lips that I still did not understand, and did not think I ever would.

"Not particularly." Tristan answered. "It's done Ostwick much more harm than it has brought good. I do what I can, but I am least among my family."

"I do not see you as such." Leliana mused and I forced myself to look at the wound, seeing now a neatly stitched injury where once had been a gaping laceration in flesh.

"Forgive my insolence but what good does the respect of a stranger do me?" Tristan asked, her voice laced with bitterness as deep as poison.

"A stranger's respect would do you little, I agree." Leliana still had that strange smile perched upon her face. "But the respect of Leliana Cousland might be something worth possessing."

Tristan's eyes, turned a rich gold by the firelight, flared in something that could only be alarm. She sat bolt upright then screamed out in pain, doubled over, and clutched the fresh-stitched wound.

"Tristan!" Leliana exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the now shuddering woman. "Stay still." She whispered into the small, almost delicate ear. "Stay still and breathe deep." Tristan took a ragged, shuddering inhale. "Slow." Leliana cautioned, her voice now a melody that another could catch the rhythm of and follow through even a haze of pain. "Focus on my voice." Leliana urged, needlessly, in my opinion. Her voice was magnetic and hypnotic, so much so that I found myself breathing in the rhythm she dictated

After a moment, the cheeks that had gone terrifyingly pale took on a touch of color. "You are…Leliana Cousland?" Tristan asked. "Hero of the Fifth Blight and…and Left Hand…"

"Yes." Leliana answered, and I wondered what had possessed her to reveal this information, she, who knew more the need for secrecy and subterfuge than I did.

Tristan looked to me, her golden eyes burning. "This means that you are…Cassandra Pentaghast?"

"The very same." I answered, firing a glare at my counterpart that she ignored.

"Bloody fuck." Tristan muttered, sagging backward. Leliana eased her down onto the pillow, reaching for bandaging and wiping away the sweat that dotted Tristan's brow. "You have to leave." Tristan murmured. "You have to leave Ostwick."


	34. Chapter 34

**Leliana**

I could feel Cassandra's eyes boring into me and sense the questions burning at the tip of her tongue. Our presence here was not meant to be known or noticed, much less revealed. I knew this, but I also knew and felt things that Cassandra did not. For the first, I knew that Tristan was _not_ this woman's _true_ first name. I could see the hesitation in her eyes when she had spoken it, their drift upwards and to the left, the slight quiver of her lips as they tripped over unfamiliar syllables. Why she would disguise her first name, but reveal her last…this was indeed a mystery.

Also, burning within me lay the instinct that I had learned never to discredit. The voice that whispered through my mind; that had done so since I had been taken before Divine Beatrix and questioned, told me that the life of this woman was more important than I could know. When I touched her skin I felt sparks between us and as I stitched her wounds I grew more and more tired, as though mere touch drained my energy. I did not know why this was happening. I would not have an answer for Cassandra when she asked. All I knew was to follow the voice inside my mind, the voice long silent that spoke to me. The Maker's voice, given to her prophet.

"You cannot stay here." Tristan spoke again, her eyes darting between me and Cassandra at a frenetic pace.

"Is there a reason why, Tristan?" I asked, gentle, hoping to lead her towards the answer.

"If…if you become known," her breath caught and she began coughing.

Her hand flew to her injury and I quickly removed it, helping her roll over to her side so that the shaking of her body would not rip the stitches. After a moment, the paroxysm ended and Cassandra moved to the well in the corner that we had not noticed before, drawing up the bucket of water, and filling a cup full. She returned and I noticed the quaking of her ever-still, ever-controlled hands as she cupped Tristan's neck and helped the woman drink.

The noble collapsed back onto the pillow, drawing a deep, though ragged, breath. "Thank you." She rasped, and Cassandra nodded, but her hand still shook as she set the cup aside.

 _Something is troubling her,_ I thought, _and it is not the fact that our presence here has been revealed. I am familiar enough with Cassandra to know that, even though she disapproves of the revelation, it would not elicit a physical gesture of discomfort or fear. It is something else, something to do with…_

A horrible memory, revisited only in my nightmares, for I would not grant it conscious hours, surfaced in my mind. The memory of running across the deck of a burning ship, hearing the screams of the wounded and the dying, the splash of our enemies' bodies being thrown into the sea. The memory of falling to my knees to see Kathyra, the sole woman who had given me any sort of kindness, pierced through with a large piece of the splintered mainmast. Cassandra had been there…she had been there, she had called Kathyra her friend, but she had not gone near the body, nor knelt to assess the injury. She had stood apart and looked anywhere else but at the blood staining her friend's clothes and pooled on the wood beneath her body.

 _I have seen Cassandra fight, and fought alongside her not two candlemarks ago. Blood and injury make no impact on her psyche…but she trembles in the sickroom. I must ask her of this, at another moment, when we have time._

"If you become known," Tristan broke the silence, finishing what her coughing fit had interrupted, "the people of Ostwick will see your presence as…as an allowance for and encouragement of what the fools who conceived me are doing to them. Neglect. Extortion…you'll be mobbed; stoned in the streets."

"I do not understand." Cassandra's voice held a tight, taut worry, and her eyes filled with a light that I recognized.

I recognized the flames in the mellow amber, the flames that had scorched me in the form of orders given from her lips. The flames that gathered in her heart and soul and burst forth when one questioned the work of the Maker. When I saw that conflagration, that belief burning bright, it was easy to believe that Cassandra had never doubted her faith. I wondered what it might be to have that surety, for I did not. I had questioned the most powerful of loves and I had run from it, once in body, but many more times in my heart.

"The fuck you don't." Tristan hissed, the vehemence in her words shocking even me. "I've heard tales of you, Pentaghast." she spoke to Cassandra, her elder and, by all standards of status and rank, her _better_ , as though she were a woman of equal rank. "And I've seen your face every _bloody_ day."

Cassandra's fine, severe features creased into a frown of displeasure and bewilderment. "What do you mean?"

"After my family returned from Val Royeaux," Tristan said, her eyes locked with Cassandra's, "they commissioned a work of art…to be carved in _marble_ imported from Antiva. As if ignoring the resources of their own land was not _enough_ , they commissioned a sculptor from _Orlais_ ," she spat the name, "to craft an image of the Maker, standing behind Andraste, his hands on her shoulders. Standing in front of Andraste is Justinia, her hands outstretched. You," she lifted her left hand and pointed at Cassandra, "stand at her right hand, your sword crossed over your breast in reverence. So, Lady Pentaghast. Every morn when I leave the abyss in which I was born, I look upon your severe features, for this marble affront to humanity is the first thing anyone sees when they step foot in my family's home."

The bewilderment on Cassandra's countenance faded but the displeasure remained, burning deeper and deeper until it became _wrath_. Many men and women would rejoice at the fact that their face had been immortalized in stone, crafted in the same work of art as Thedas' god and his beloved prophet. Cassandra, however, seemed to be enraged, a reaction that gave me hope for the future of knowing her, working with her, and, perhaps, one day, becoming her friend.

"And Leliana?" Cassandra's voice sounded like the crack of the whip, echoing across the stone floor of the tavern's kitchens. "Is the Left Hand not featured in this gaudy monstrosity?"

Tristan chuckled, but, considering the circumstances, the sound held no mirth, only ominous foreboding.

"To my family," Tristan turned her eyes to mine as Cassandra shot at me a look of concern, "Leliana Cousland does not exist. If she existed," Tristan swallowed and I could see the cords of muscle in her neck tightening with pain, "that would mean the Chantry, the Maker's voice upon the world, would have secrets, perhaps even blood on its hands. That world…that world does not exist to the _pious_ ," she spat the word, "devout Trevelyan family. The Chantry must do no wrong, _can_ do no wrong…and if they enact their deeds in the name of the Maker, Andraste, and the Chant…they, too, can do no wrong."

"That is a despicable, convoluted logic." Cassandra fumed and for the briefest of moments, in the angle she stood, in the light of the hearth-flicker, I saw the line of a crooked nose, broken twice, and the flare of righteous anger in silver-blue eyes.

 _Salem…_ my heart whispered her name and panged at the gentle syllables of it. _Salem would march into that estate and tear down that sculpture with her bare hands. I wonder what Cassandra will do, if anything._

"I know." Tristan growled, forcing herself once more into a sitting position.

I allowed her to move, watching pain cross her countenance, then fade. She would still require a great deal of rest to recover, and the attentions of a proper healer, but I felt confident that we would at least be able to see her home this very night. I reached for a roll of bandaging and Tristan turned to me, a lightning quick smile crossing her features, giving her, for that instant, a devastating beauty.

"I take it I am pronounced well?" she asked.

"You are pronounced to be recovering." I told her, beginning to wrap the bandaging around her torso, covering the stitches. "But you do require the aid of a proper healer."

"I shall keep you a secret then." once more the roguish flash grin, and the champagne eyes turned to Cassandra. "For if I call for the healer and tell who helped me, word shall reach my mother and father and that healer shall be sent home. For surely, the touch of the Divine's right hand can mend the tears in my flesh."

"Do you mock me?" Cassandra asked, but in her tone I heard no anger, and it stunned me.

"No." Tristan shook her head. "I've heard of the things you have done. All for the people. All for their good. You allow your faith to drive you to better the lives of others…you do not better your own life by demanding the faith of others. It is not you I mock, Lady Pentaghast, but the name and blood to which I belong."

 _The name and blood to which I belong…_ her words resonated in my mind as I gave Tristan a fresh shirt from my pack to wear in the place of her ruined garment. After a cup of willow-bark tea, I helped Tristan to her feet, Cassandra supported her, and we began the journey through the streets of Ostwick towards the Trevelyan estate. All the while Tristan's words rang in my ears, reminding me that I had chosen my name. That I had taken the name of a strong, _worthy_ woman of faith. Before loving Salem, I had no name in which to take true pride, no name to honor. I bore a name now, a name that would never know derision.

 _Even dead these many years, my beloved,_ I looked to the moon and remembered the tears shed, laughter shared, and love made beneath it, _you are still giving unto me all that you have and all that you are. I miss you, Salem. I have found comfort and I have found peace but still…still I miss you._


	35. Chapter 35

**Salem**

I rested on the deck of the ship, enjoying the gentle rocking as it rose and fell on the water. I gazed to the sky, allowing my thoughts to drift in the sea of stars. With the ship docked and the crew gone to enjoy the delights of shore leave, I felt comfortable enough to remove my mask and gloves. After hiding them for so long, my own skin, and the scars I knew so well, seemed foreign to me. I felt a stranger in my own body, but all of that changed when I turned my eyes to the stars.

It reminded me of one of the many nights that I had spent with Leliana, beside the fire in our camp. I could no longer look at the night sky without remembering the first story she told me, of Alindra and her warrior, her one love, forever separated in life. They were given mercy in death, placed together in the stars, allowed to live in the night sky and love one another, forever.

 _Will it be so with us, dear heart?_ Inside my mind, I spoke to the woman I loved. _Will we be written into the heavens, a constellation that stands as witness to a lover who could not die…and a love that could? And did?_

My heart ached and my body hurt, twin-tandem pains that reminded me that I was, indeed, still alive. I knew this for I had dwelt in the lands of death. Pain did not venture there. Memories that, in life, were bittersweet lost all their bitterness on the other side of mortality.

 _I have set Salem aside in my heart._

Those words had repeated in my mind without ceasing. While sequestered in the crow's nest, I had allowed my mind to wander, but always it returned to those words. The words that hurt me in a way that also healed…another blistering contradiction that defined the life I was not meant to lead. Or to have.

"Ah, there she lies, stalwart still in her resolve. Like a hero cast in marble, unable to move, eternally attacking and defending, but unable to commit to either action. Paralyzed for an eternity."

The sound of that voice crawled down my spine and I bolted to my feet, looking to the back of the ship, from whence the sound had come. There, in all her glory, stood the woman who had saved my life, become the dragon I had killed, then clawed her way into eternity to drag me back into a third life. Flemeth. A woman. A dragon. A…god?

"Why are you here?" I demanded to know. "You need not hunt me across the face of Thedas. I have done all that you have asked of me."

"How sweetly she lies, the woman of truth." Flemeth crooned, mocking me with every careful intonation. "You have done everything I have asked, save for the one reason I called you back into existence."

"What you wish of me as it comes to that will _never_ happen." I declared, vehement in my resolve to stand against all that she wished for me to do. I would not wound Leliana's faith. I would not break my love's beautiful heart.

"Oh?" Flemeth turned to me and her eyes, the eyes she had given to Morrigan, sparked. "Falsehoods do not become you, Salem." she spoke my name with the sinuousness of a snake. "I saw the warring in your heart when your once-lover stepped foot onto this ship. I watched your body cower and your hands curl into impotent fists as you struggled; as your frail, human heart met temptation in battle and nearly succumbed. I wonder," she sing-songed as she drew close to me and traced the spiderwebbing scars on my hand," if the scars across your psyche are as beautiful as those that decorate your flesh."

I pulled away from her touch, disgusted by the feeling of her hand against my scars. I knew the power of words and of emotions. There were not many _people_ that I hated. I hated Rendon Howe for the crimes he committed and the butchering of my family. I hated Loghain Mac Tir for desertion that equaled regicide, seizing the throne, and threatening to split the country in two while a Blight ravaged the land. I hated Marjolaine for the atrocities Leliana had endured in the place of her bardmaster. Those three alone bore my hatred, for hatred of another living thing was not a standard in my life. But I _hated_ Flemeth.

With all the passion I could muster, I _despised_ the creature, the woman-dragon-deity, who had violated the sacredness of a warrior's death. The creature that had dragged my soul across eternity in order to shatter the faith and break the heart of the woman, the prophet who would save Thedas with a message from a long silent god. A god who believed in love. I hated Flemeth with a passion I could neither temper nor control. Unlike many who bore witness to her, I did not fear her. She had used the energy and power she possessed to make me live again. She needed me. No matter her threats or her mockery, she needed me.

"Whatever scars lie in my psyche are no concern of yours." I spoke, my voice clear and crisp in the night, echoing out into the water. "And you cannot cut them deeper by mocking me with reminders of temptation." I laughed in her face and she smiled, though her eyes hardened. "Temptation will always be strong, yes. But if I did not war with it, I would not be human. You mock me for being what you desired me to be. I am not the one who has failed."

The moon glinted off of her hair, and Flemeth raised a single eyebrow, a skill that I had seen her daughter use on multitudinous occasions.

"Do I infer from your words, Salem, that you believe I have failed?" her words were sharp enough to split skin.

"Have you not?" I asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

The gold of her eyes hardened further. "In what way does your limited mind build the construct of my failure?" she asked. "Pray tell me so that I might see my flaws from mortal eyes."

"You've failed to make me reveal myself to Leliana." I did not crow triumph, but stated fact. "You placed your wager on temptation, against me, and, _that_ , Flemeth, is where you have failed."

I did not expect her to become angry. In the myriad times she had come to hound me, to mock me, to push me further towards insanity, she had never become angry. I knew that the same would be true of this meeting. I did not, however, expect to see smoldering calculation enter her eyes and spread across her countenance. In that moment, as the shadow of scheming passed across her features, I knew that I had spoken amiss. I had pushed her too far and claimed things that Flemeth would _not_ forget. I would suffer for my insolence.

"Perhaps I was wrong to believe that you would succumb to temptation." the Witch of the Wilds assented. "But, lest in your temporary triumph you forget, I am still the one that runs this game, Salem. I do not lose. If temptation has failed me, then I shall place a wager on something that I _know_ shall be infinitely more effective."

"Render your sentence and do your worst." I taunted her, knowing that, even if I abased myself and recanted my words, it would not change the actions she planned to take.

"You thought that, upon the sight of her, your heart would break." Flemeth needled me. "Sorrow oft leads into temptation, a pain so powerful that few can resist. But you are a woman of pain, and therein lies the heart of my error. You know and understand too much of this world, and too much of yourself. Only one thing can make another forget themselves and foreswear their every good intention. Therefore, next time that you lay eyes on the woman you took to wife, you shall know what it is to _despair_."

Flemeth laughed, wickedness and ferocity, and I saw the skin of her face ripple and contort as her body melted within and without itself, buckling and coalescing as she adopted a new face. Morrigan had been skilled enough, when I knew her and called her friend, to shift her shape into that of an animal. Flemeth had power and skill enough to change her shape into that of another human being.

My soul iced over as I looked on Flemeth's final form, a man with tanned, leathery skin, scraggly hair and beard, arms roped with muscle and a look of pure fury in her eyes. Whatever he planned to do in this shape, in this body…

" _Do. Not. Dare._ " I growled, sensing Flemeth's malevolent intentions. "Do not _dare_ think to harm Leliana."

"Now, now." the woman's voice emanated from the man's body. "There is no need to be so demanding. The hands of fate must be allowed to turn as they will."

"If you harm one hair on her head, I will _slaughter_ you." I threatened, grabbing Flemeth by the collar of her ragged shirt and pulling her to me.

"Always you fight and always it is naught but futile gesturing." Flemeth claimed, her breath smelling of nightshade and citrus. "How many times have you plunged your sword into my chest since you walked back from death?"

"At least seven." my grasp on her shirt loosened as she reminded me of our past, calling to mind the many times that, lost in a rage, I lifted my weapons and drove them into her heart…only to watch her laugh and heal before my eyes.

As much as I desired to, I could not kill her. As much as I desired to, I could not lift a blade to my own throat and end my suffering and the nefarious reason for my indrawn breath.

"Threaten me all you like, Salem." her smile sickened me. "I am a god you shall never be able to kill. I have endured the insouciant wagging of your tongue long enough. You think you have known pain? All times before, you have suffered beneath my mercy. Now…" a flash of light, pure, powerful, and painful, burst forth from her hand and slammed into me, knocking me against the railing of the ship. I stared up at her and she considered me as one might consider an ant beneath their feet. "…you will suffer beneath my wrath."

Another blinding flash of light and she vanished. I dragged myself to my feet, knowing my back would be badly bruised from being slammed against the railing. I did not know what new torment Flemeth had in store for me. I did know that all I desired to do was leave this ship, seek the woman I loved, and protect her.

 _But that is what Flemeth_ _ **wants.**_ I knew this even though I did not wish to acknowledge the truth of it. I crumpled to my knees in a useless puddle of humanity, wanting to fight, wanting to run, but forcing myself to stay and to wait and to resist the rawest and purest of my instincts. _Therefore, I dare not follow my heart. Maker, protect the one I love. Keep Leliana safe…and grant me strength enough…grant me strength enough to stay my hands and still my feet, to remain unmoved. Grant me strength enough to strangle my heart yet another time._


	36. Chapter 36

**Cassandra**

"I do not believe I have ever been more thoroughly disgusted in my life." I snapped.

Leliana and I stood outside the gates of the Trevelyan estate, watching a young woman, presumably Tristan's personal servant, supporting the young woman as they tread the considerable distance from the gate to the door of the estate. It had been a long walk here from the tavern. Midway through, Tristan had begun to lean heavily on Leliana; her face had been whiter than bleached bone, and her breathing had been short, rapid gasps. I would grant the young noblewoman that she had grit, but it might have done her some good to swallow her pride. With her name and station, she could have ordered a carriage and a healer, riding the distance in comfort and safety. Instead, she had demanded for us to allow her to walk.

 _Though the swallowing of pride is a lesson that I, too, am still learning. I cannot fault her overmuch, for, at her age and in her position, I might have done much the same._

"Even in the heart of the Chantry in Val Royeaux, I never saw such ostentatious displays." Leliana nodded, her eyes shooting blue fire.

The pillars of the house were ornate, carved stone. Each one had been exquisitely rendered into a frame of the prophet Andraste's life. From the top of the manor, banners hung, fine material with embroidered memoirs to the sacrifices the Trevelyan family had made in the name of the Maker. My throat tightened with nausea and disgust as I saw the faces of their family members, forever stamped in cloth that must have cost a fortune, that had been lost in the Exalted March, or dedicated themselves to the Order of the Seekers or the templars.

"It is one thing to honor the Maker in a house of worship built for his glory." I claimed, remembering and realizing that, not so long ago, I might not have had this reaction towards the Trevelyan's décor. While I might not have approved of the expenditure, I would have honored their faith and their pride.

 _But I saw the wounds on a young woman's body, wounds incurred because those who wear her name have dishonored the Maker's will in neglecting the overseeing of their people. No faith, no pride is worth blood spilled for needless purpose, anger that could be calmed._

"It is another entirely to have the home of your family made to look more as a Chantry than a noble's estate." Leliana turned her back and I saw her hands clenched into fists.

"Something is troubling you?" I asked as we began the walk back to the tavern, hoping to receive at least a few candlemark's rest before the meeting tomorrow.

"The state of this world, Cassandra." Leliana answered. "The state of the nobility. They are puffed up, proud creatures. They do not know justice, but excess, they do not know service, but mastery. They are enslaved by both hands, chained to their wealth and chained to the service of those who are wealthier and more powerful than they." the former bard, an elegant woman by all counts, shocked me when she spat in the streets, ultimate derision. "That was not the original intention of nobility…that was not the original intention of power placed in the hands of the _proper_ people…the _proper_ bloodline."

I paused and looked at her. The fire in her eyes would soften many a heart, I knew, for it was beautiful and fierce. What I wanted to know, what I wanted to understand of her, was how her mind had changed. Justinia told me of the woman Leliana had been, the woman who had paraded among the nobility of Orlais, taken part in the Game with a skill unmatched and a dexterous hand that many would envy. Leliana might have been chief of her profession, save that the woman who taught her had chained her with love…and betrayed her with a kiss.

"Do you truly believe that any noble, any person who is given power, would be better than those we have now?" I asked. "Is there a proper person any longer, Leliana? Are not all bloodlines tainted with greed?"

"No." Leliana shook her head and her eyes burned into mine. "Cassandra, I understand that you have your beliefs about the woman who was my wife. I know that…that many unfortunate things happened between the two of you but you…but _you_ did not see the woman Salem was. In all Ferelden, never once did I hear the Cousland name reviled. In spite of knowing her duty as a warden, in spite of knowing that she needed to survive, Salem _sacrificed herself to_ _ **torture**_ for me and two others. And when…and when we returned to Highever, Cassandra, Salem _bowed low_ before her people and begged their forgiveness for abandoning them for so long. All of this, I witnessed. All of this…after all that I had believed nobility to be, silks, satin, and that infernal _Game_ that means _**nothing**_ to me now…all of this destroyed whatever pride I might have left. And it has made me despise those who sit in the seats of power."

"So you admired young Trevelyan, I take it?" I asked, feeling humbled by the force of her words, seeing her love for a woman many years dead shining in her eyes. "Doing as she did, attempting to help her people?"

"Less admiration." Leliana admitted and we continued our journey. "More sorrow. She fights a losing battle in this city, against her family. If she continues to do as she is doing, then she will soon be dead…or jaded."

"You laud one woman's attempts to aid her people and decry another's." my voice hardened; I disliked Leliana's wavering on her approval of what I considered to be similar actions.

"I do not decry Tristan's attempts." Leliana said, and I believed her. "But she is unlearned. She has been neglected. What she attempts to do comes from a place of mercy, but also a place of rebellion against that which she has been subjected to. In her efforts to do good, she might do more harm." Leliana sighed. "Do we not both know, Cassandra, in intimate ways that scar our souls, that good intentions can lead to utter ruination?"

Her words, once again, humbled me in their earnestness and truth. "Yes." I admitted. "These are lessons we have learned in blood."

"Pain." she assented.

"Loss." I murmured, watching the red hair move in acknowledgement of my truth.

 _Most Holy, it seems, is correct. Leliana and I do stand on more common ground than I think either of us perceive. This mission, though I do not yet know how it will end, has at least given me insight into the woman who is the Left Hand of Divine Justinia. And, from all evidence I have seen, she is a good woman. Broken, in some places, hardened in others. Just as we all are. It was an unkind fate and the machinations of a scheming woman that first brought us together. But I steadfastly believe that, given time, she and I will be able to complete the Maker's work throughout Thedas. Justinia, myself, and Leliana. Three as one, as was intended._

"So much loss." Leliana breathed.

We walked the rest of the way in silence, and I noticed the relative quiet of Ostwick as a city. Every now and again I would see light through the window of a tavern, the people sitting inside, nursing their drinks. We heard no clanging of tankards, no loud speech of drunken men or women. No women of the night stood in the alleyways to ply their wares.

"Even Kirkwall is not so quiet as this." Leliana voiced my thoughts. "The effect is positively eerie. I wonder, Cassandra, if there is a curfew?"

"For an entire Free Marcher city?" I wondered. "It seems unlikely, but after all that we have witnessed and been told today, I would not be surprised. I do not like this silence, however. Something is…"

"Wrong." Leliana reached into her sleeves, where she carried deadly blades. Ahead, we could see the sign for the tavern where we had procured a room.

I did not know what happened next; it felt as though a burst of lightning drove me against the wall. My right cheek caught fire as it scraped against the rough rock. A wave of dizziness washed over me as I tried to regain my balance and my understanding. I reached and pressed my hands against the wall, pushing myself away from it, stumbling backwards as the world swerved.

"Cassandra!" I heard Leliana cry out and I used it to anchor me, to pull me into cognizance.

I drew my sword as I saw Leliana embattled against the man whose wrist she had broken earlier in the day. However, he did not move as a man in pain, and he grappled with her, using both of his arms, his greater strength and greater height to bear down on her. Blood trickled down my cheek. I ignored it.

I ran forward, grabbing the man by his leather jerkin, attempting to wrench him backwards, to pull him off of her. He stood strong, even with my arms laced around his chest, struggling to pull him off of her. His arm flashed out and Leliana disappeared from my sight.

 _Oh, Maker, please…_ pain exploded in my back as the man gave his ground, going limp so suddenly that I lost my balance and crashed to the streets. My lungs burned as the breath was knocked for them. I strained to breathe as the man sat up and turned. Another line of fire sliced up my left cheek, following the movement of his hand. I lay on the ground, still begging for air.

The man lifted Leliana from where she had been, doubled over on her knees, and dragged her away from my field of vision. I opened my mouth and gulped down air, pounding my fists against the streets as I heard the clashing of blades and several muttered Orlesian curses. I had to stand up. I had to fight. I had to protect the woman that Justinia loved as though she were Leliana's own mother. After a struggle, I managed to roll over and push myself to my knees, propping myself up with my sword, dragging myself to my feet just as the man fled the shadowed corner he had dragged Leliana into.

His body slammed into mine, that impressive, unlikely strength forcing me down once again. I hit the street for a second time, gasping out my pain. His boot landed in my chest and his eyes were wild when I looked into them.

"Don't meddle in another's blood feud." he ordered, stamping his boot down on my breastbone with force enough to leave heavy bruising, but I heard nothing break, and he vanished into the night.

"Cassandra!" I heard Leliana's voice, thick with worry. A moment later she emerged into the moonlight and dropped to her knees beside me. "Are you well? Can you breathe?" her hands roved over my chest, pressing on my ribs in an uncomfortable diagnostic manner that I knew all too well.

"I am shaken and bruised, that is all." I extended my hand so that she might help me up, but she did not take it.

"He cut your face rather badly." Leliana whispered, her fingertips applying a light touch to my cheeks. "You will need the wound stitched. Come. He has run, but there is a chance he might return, and might not be alone. We need to get inside, behind a barred door."

I nodded and she aided me to my feet. Forsaking pride, we ran for the tavern, slowing only when we were behind its doors. With a nod to the bartender, we made our way upstairs, entering our room. I closed the door and dropped the bar, feeling safer on the second story, able to breathe a little easier. As the initial rush of battle-fever faded, I felt my face burn and my chest ache. Morning would not be a pleasant thing to greet.

"He used both hands." Leliana whispered as I finished latching the door. "I broke his wrist, but he had no splint, no bandage." I turned to face her and blood drained from my face.

Leliana stood, staring at her hands. They were covered with blood, the blood spreading across the left side of her body, staining her clothing. She looked up at me, her eyes hazed over with shock. My heart dropped into my stomach.

"Maker help me." Leliana prayed, and I could hear the pain in her voice, but could not reach her fast enough as she slumped to her knees and pressed her hand to the center of the rapidly spreading crimson stain. She looked to me in agony and need and I began shaking. "He used both hands."


	37. Chapter 37

**Leliana**

 _This is not happening. This_ _ **cannot**_ _be happening. How did I let him gain the upper hand? How was he so strong? How did he use both hands? I broke his wrist…I heard the bone snap…I broke his wrist._

I struggled with my thoughts, desperately attempting to follow them to their ending. I needed to keep my mind, not let the pain take over and render me useless. I could not be useless. I had seen Cassandra when we tended Tristan. She would need help, guidance, but it was taking all of my willpower to remain on my knees. The entire left side of my body was made of fire, and the blood pouring out of the holes in my skin felt like lava. I wanted to give in to the burn, to the pain. I could not give…

"Leliana!" I had heard alarm in Cassandra's voice before, but never panic. I heard panic now.

 _I never want to hear it again. It is so desperate, so broken._

"Leliana, look at me!" Cassandra's hands were on my face, warm and solid, but I could feel her worry in her touch.

Her left cheek had been cut. It needed to be stitched. I needed to get my pack. Needed to stop the bleeding. Facial lacerations, if untreated for long, could scar worse than many other wounds. Cassandra had lost so much…she did not need to lose her beauty. My pack lay on the stand near the bed. If I could reach it, I could help her. I attempted to reach it, but cried out as pain ripped up my side, under my arm, shredding through my stomach and spreading to my heart, making it stutter-kick in my chest.

I felt myself falling, and braced for the impact with the hard wood of the floor. Instead, I met with the soft embrace of strong arms, full breasts, and the sturdy body of a warrior.

"Stay still." Cassandra's voice shook, but it sliced through the bleary fog in my mind; made me brutally aware of the pain that had begun to rule me. "For the love of the Maker, Leliana, stay still."

I followed her orders, collapsing and sagging in her arms, feeling more blood pulse out of the gravest wound and sheet down across my stomach. Kathyra would lose her mind. She had said she knew something terrible would happen. I should have trusted her intuition; should never have taken off my armor. I should have…

"Have to…" I gasped, struggling to keep my thoughts centered, focused. "…stop the…bleeding."

"I know." Cassandra's voice was soothing, steady, and stern.

I understood now why people followed her into battle, why Most Holy had given Cassandra the authority and power of her right hand. However, I had seen those hands shaking not candlemarks before, struggling to function and help the wounded.

 _Kathyra, darling, how I wish you were here. Maker, please,_ _ **please**_ _help me. It hurts…it hurts so very much._

"Leliana, try not to move." Casandra ordered. "I'm going to lift you onto the bed. You are going to be all right. Stay with me." she pulled me tighter to her, almost a desperate embrace. "Stay with me."

I gritted my teeth. Casandra rolled me over and my mouth opened, a scream tearing out of my throat. Breathing became an ordeal, the hardest thing I had ever done as agony fissured my gut and my lungs. Cassandra held me behind my shoulders, her other arm fitting beneath the bend of my knees. She lifted me up and I screamed again, hoping that this pain would give me clarity, that I might stay cogent long enough to…

A horrific, pained sob tore out of my throat as Cassandra eased me down on the bed, cradling my head on a feather pillow with a gentleness I did not know she possessed. The soft surface of the bed felt like the warm embrace of death, and I began to be afraid. Afraid of the comfort. Afraid of the softness. Afraid for my life.

 _I'm going to die._ I thought. _Maker's breath, I am going to…_ _ **no.**_ _I can move through this; I can survive…I've not known this manner of pain since the Blight. Something…something inside is very damaged._

"Elevate…" I lifted my hand, waving it in the vague direction of my feet, "…my legs."

Cassandra moved with alacrity, snatching the pillows from the second bed and stacking them atop each other. She took a moment to reach out, pressing two of her fingers to the pulse point at my neck. I knew she would give me the truth. She did nothing else.

"Your heart is beating too fast, Leliana. You are losing blood too rapidly." she looked at me but I could barely see her. My eyelids were fluttering; my fingers were freezing. I wanted to sleep. I could **not** fall asleep. "Hold strong."

Cassandra lifted my legs and agony struck. My hands flew to the wound I could feel, the worst of them, the one where I had felt the knife enter, twist, and leave. My eyes flared wide and my lips parted and, once again, I heard my voice shredding out in a wretched cry of pain. Warmth and weight settled across my legs as Cassandra laid blankets across them, doing all that she could to prevent me from going into shock.

The world took on soft, blurred edges. The pain dulled. I knew what was happening to me. I had seen it too many times; felt it too many times. Blood loss. Not lethal…not lethal yet. My hand went slack over the worst of the wounds. I could feel blood pouring out with every thready beat of my heart.

"Cass…" I managed to rasp, drawing her eyes to mine. They were so beautiful and fierce. How had I never before noticed their beauty? I fought to lift my fingers from where they lay over the injury. "Pressure." I whispered. "Here."

The Seeker nodded and she reached into my pack, rummaging through it, returning with a wad of clean bandaging…all the bandages that we had left after treating Tristan. The bandages would not be enough in their own right. I had to speak. I did not want to speak. It hurt so much…it hurt so much and I was so tired.

"Poultice." I forced myself to speak and Cassandra began rifling through the bag, searching yet again. "Shepherd's purse…and elfroot. Helps…"

"Stop bleeding." Cassandra cut me off, her voice tight in worry, not in anger. "I have had more of those strapped against my skin than I care to recall." her search through the satchel became all but frenetic. "Oh, thank the Maker." she breathed as she pulled free a few of Kathyra's carefully prepared poultices. "We haven't many left." she informed me. "Are you injured anywhere else?" Cassandra looked so pale, even beneath the drying blood from the cuts on her face. "Is there but the one wound? How many times were you…" she seemed to be unable to articulate the last word.

I managed to lift three of my fingers. They were stuck together with drying blood. Cassandra looked even paler now, but the outlines of everything were made of soft, black fuzz. I could have been imagining. Dreaming.

"You were stabbed three times?" she asked, her voice tight, and I nodded as best I could.

 _The knife went in three times._ I remembered the fight. _Twice beneath my left arm…once in my stomach. It does not hurt a much as it should, and this is a bad thing. A very bad thing indeed._

Cassandra's lips were moving, but they said nothing that I could hear, and my vision was too unfocused to read them. I wondered if she was praying…I hoped that she was praying. Maker…everything hurt. I did not understand how this could have happened. How the man could have been so strong. Why he had come to take his vengeance alone, instead of with the support of others. So much of this did not make sense. I belonged to the Maker. I had been called by her to do her work on Thedas but…but now it seemed that I had been abandoned.

 _Why have you forsaken me?_ I asked the god I served. _Why have you let me be harmed? Is it not enough that I serve you, that I have given up everything to serve you? Now I must suffer for that service? Why, my Maker…please tell me why._

My shirt moved up, Cassandra's hands shaking as she revealed my wound. Her eyes went wide as she saw thick, crimson blood surging up from the ragged tear in my skin. Gentle, she set the poultice over the wound and I felt the subtle stinging of the herbs.

"Leliana, I…" she wiped sweat from her brow, "…this is going to _hurt_." she warned me, but I already knew.

I gritted my teeth as Cassandra rested both hands atop the poultice. Even the slight pressure hurt, but when she bore down, I _shrieked_ in raw agony and pure anguish. Cassandra's eyes split apart, becoming the stars in the heavens. Darkness swallowed the stars.


	38. Chapter 38

**Salem**

I paced back and forth, listening to the dull, hollow thud of my boots against the wooden deck of the ship. The sound, empty and echoing, reminded me of the beat of my heart. Dull, listless, existing against my will. I wanted to scream out to the heavens, to demand knowledge of why I had been chosen for this from any god who would answer. But I could not…I had borne witness to three gods, one who fell by my hand. If I spoke to them, I feared that they would answer, and I had drunk my fill of divine meddling.

 _Are there no others that the gods can speak to? No other soul who might be worthy of having their waking days and sleeping nights turned into a landscape of emotional torment? I am proud of the scars that mar my body. I earned them in a battle worth fighting against a foe who could and would have destroyed Thedas. The scars that mar my psyche, however…those I have no pride for. I should be strong enough to withstand the damage that is done to my mind, but I am…I am not._

I did not understand how it was possible, but I _longed_ for the days of the Blight. Not simply for the fact that Leliana and I would be together…but because there had been a real, physical enemy to fight. There had been battles, bodies to sink my swords into and _know_ beyond doubt's shadow that I had won a victory. This war that I waged with the god who brought me back…I could do nothing with my blades, and my resistance seemed so passive and useless that I wondered if I did any true good at all.

My hands clenched into fists, the curve of my nails biting into the skin of my palms. I wanted to bleed. I wanted to be able to kill a god again.

"Such control. Such courage in the face of the knowledge that you possess. I did not expect you to remain here, Salem. It seems I might have underestimated the ferocity of your resolve."

 _Speak of the demon and it shall appear,_ the old adage whispered through my thoughts.

I turned to face Flemeth, my personal god of torment. She still wore her guise as the man with scraggly hair and beard, sunken cheeks, and hatred burning in his eyes. Once again, I watched her features melt and twist, her spine elongate as she shifted into the form of power with which she had greeted me in the mountains when I had come back from paradise. The light of the moon gleamed off of her hair and her eyes sparked with that eerie golden glow that Morrigan had inherited. Flemeth knew I despised watching her shift her shape, because it reminded me of the mask and gloves and the names I had given myself over the years in order to remain, in the minds of the people and the land, dead.

She moved further into the moonlight and my throat tightened. Her hands were blotched with dark stains and, as she came closer, I smelled copper and salt, the stench of blood. My body tensed and I took a step backward, but Flemeth was too swift. Moving faster than speed itself, she had my wrist trapped in her hand, my arm twisted behind my back, and my shoulder near wrenched from its socket.

I struggled against her, but she was too strong. Not a mere woman, but a god that I could not kill. The sensation of her breath whispering through my hair disgusted me, making me feel more tainted than when I had darkspawn blood bound into my veins by ancient magic. The scent of blood grew stronger and my heart beat hard and fast inside my chest, wanting to break out of my ribs, run through the city streets, searching every inn and every tavern, for I knew what had been done.

Cold steel ghosted along my unscarred cheekbone, then appeared before my eyes, held in Flemeth's hand. The scent of blood filled my nose and overwhelmed my mind, tossing me back in to horrific memories and times that I did not wish to relive. The knife was soaked with blood. It was still fresh, still wet, glistening on the blade. My neck tightened as I strained to free myself, to take the knife and plunge it into Flemeth's heart, though I knew it would not kill her.

Instead, I trembled with pure, unadulterated rage as Flemeth touched the flat of the weapon to my lips. I could taste the blood on it, the acrid iron, the sting of salt, and the sweetness that love alone could infuse into the taste of blood. I had kissed split lips and known this taste. What I had already known became real, visceral, and I pushed against Flemeth, attempting desperately to break away from er, to run, to find…

"Oh, you suffer." Flemeth's tongue purred over the words; her hand kept the blade pressed against my lips. "What will you do, Salem Cousland?" she asked, cruel. "Or, is the proper question what _can_ you do?" she chuckled low in her throat and I felt the dreadful sound vibrate down my spine and shoot into my legs. "Her flesh gave in so easily to the knife." Flemeth continued her torment. "Parting like water through the fingers and letting a red river gush forth. Red," I could feel her lips on my ear, "the color of passion and of love. The color of death. Death is not what I want for this world, Salem Cousland."

"Then why do you hold a bloody blade pressed to my lips?" I snarled as the edge of the blade nicked my upper lip, joining my blood to Leliana's. "Why do you push me to kill at every moment?"

Flemeth shoved me away, spinning me around so that I would face her. The knife, soaked with the blood of the woman I loved, fell from her hand onto the deck of the ship.

"I do not ask for you to kill, Salem." the manner in which she spoke my name made me shudder.

"You are not asking!" the words burst from me as they had when I faced Zathrian, Rendon Howe, and Loghain, all fathers of atrocities. "You are _demanding_ that I stand before the woman I love and let the life you _forced_ me to live _demolish_ her faith! After the torture and torment that Leliana has endured, her faith is _all she has_! How _dare_ you say that you do not ask me to kill! You are doing worse by asking me to steal away her faith and her hope for this world! God or no, I will _not_ bend my knee to you! I will _not_ _**rape**_ the mind of the woman who carries the entirety of my _soul!_ "

"Strong words spoken from the weakest of hearts, but still you are refusing to see what I have spoken of since the day the spark of your soul re-entered your body." Flemeth's tone became harder than dragon scales and sharper than steel. "You do not see the larger hands here that move. You do not see the Great Game at work beyond the vision of your like, creatures poor in spirit, afflicted with mortality. Mark my words, daughter of man, if your 'Maker' and her 'prophet' are allowed to preach their message, if the hearts of mortals can be touched by love and devoted to that love, the darker of my brethren will stir from their slumber and, in the absence of worship and the absence of fealty in the form of blood and atrocities, the heavens themselves will roar, tremble, and bleed. Then shall come a voice from among them, a dread voice, and it will say that they need not fight when their enemy is not each other. When those words are spoken, your world shall burn."

"Why? Choose? Me?" I seethed, my eyes riveted to Flemeth's eyes, my mind drowning beneath the overwhelming scent of Leliana's blood.

"Because you are one who knows." Flemeth's lips curved up in a small smile that made me afraid. "You know that it is better for one to suffer than for the world to perish. Your battered and broken body is testament to that; every scar a scream into the dark that you are willing to sacrifice. That you know your duty as it comes to this. The pain borne by one, so that the suffering of many might be mitigated."

"And if I were the one made to bear the suffering then I would _gladly_ do so!" I shouted, hearing my voice bound back to me from the rocks on the shore. "But _no_! You ask me to _harm_ another, a sin that has been antonymic to me since the day I _first drew breath!_ If you believe that I wish the gods to war in the heavens and rain down their suffering and misery upon us then you are wrong! But _what_ manner of savior would call _another,_ an _innocent,_ to bear their mantle of pain!?"

"I would not know." a canny light flitted in Flemeth's eyes and around the corners of her mouth and I knew that I would know nothing but pain from her next words. "Did Andraste not burn?"

I took a step backwards, reeling, stunned, shattered. Her answer held nothing but truth. Her truth held nothing but anguish. Andraste had burned…she had worn the mantle of pain for her god, the Maker. The same Maker who had called Leliana to be her own prophet.

"The one you love bears already the mantle of pain." Flemeth continued, driving a blade deeply into my psyche as sure as she had driven a blade into Leliana's skin. "What more damage can you do that is not already written in her destiny?"

"No." my throat tightened so that the word was a low, choked almost-sob of horror. "No. I will not let that happen."

"Yes, you will." Flemeth's laugh burrowed into the waves and lapped the sides of the ship, surrounding me. "You will, for, even if you do not, the sweet and faithful Leliana is doomed as surely as Andraste was from the moment she heard the Maker's voice. You have a role to play, Salem Cousland, in this sick world that damns it saviors. Break the prophet and spare the world. Or doom the world the prophet creates."

"You wretched, horrific, _torment from the abyss!_ " I raged at her, even though I knew she would not care. It did not matter. I needed to scream. "Can you let no one rest!? Can you not cease meddling? Leliana might have been doomed when she was called, but you have now damned her twice! You would use _love_ itself to break the _messenger of love_ and call that breaking _**salvation!**_ _"_

Flemeth held out her hand and summoned into it the bloodied knife she had dropped. She held it, turning it back and forth in the moonlight. The sticky crimson that coated the metal made me sick. I wanted to rip it from her hands, plunge it into her heart, and then mine. I could do nothing.

"This blade is salvation, Salem." Flemeth told me, her voice dark and foreboding. "Held in the hand of one defending themselves, this blade is salvation. But to the body into which I push this knife, this blade is damnation. A double edged sword. Thus also stands a calling from a god. You will serve a divine purpose, but in serving that purpose, you will be consumed."

"Did you kill her, Flemeth!?" I demanded to know, for my heart was not just breaking. It cracked in its center and those cracks fissured outwards, splitting my heart into months and moments spent loving Leliana. They dissolved and rushed through my veins as a poison. If she died, I, too, would perish. "Did you kill Leliana!?"

The bitch did nothing but smile and disappear into the darkness, vanishing out of my sight and out of my reach, leaving behind a bloodstained knife. I walked to it and fell to my knees, defeated, broken, bruised all over my body by the words Flemeth had spoken, and the truth that lay within them. With trembling hands, I lifted the blood-slick blade, staring at the precious scarlet stains upon it. I knew it to be the cruelty of the world when, beneath the tang of copper and salt, I smelled the perfume of Andraste's Grace.

I grasped the hilt of the dagger and lifted it towards the sky, towards the stars and the Golden City, towards the salvation and damnation of the gods.

" _Honor_ _ **this!**_ " I screamed at the height of my lungs. " _Honor_ _ **this!**_ _If you have_ _ **ever**_ _honored love, Maker, honor this_ _ **blood sacrifice!**_ _"_ With a wretched cry I flung the knife away, into the ever flowing waves of the Waking Sea. I closed my eyes and imagined the knife falling down, drowning in the water as surely as I wanted to do. Hot, bitter tears burst forth from my eyes like blood spurting from a wound. "Maker, please, if ever you have heard my prayer…hear me now. Save Leliana. Save her faith. Andraste failed you…let Leliana live, and I swear to you that she will not fail you. Hear the cry of a broken woman once your daughter. I beg of you. Hear me. Save her."


	39. Chapter 39

**Cassandra**

Leliana's scream ripped through my very soul and psyche, but I could not relieve the pressure that caused her such pain. Her hand lashed out, catching my wrist, her grip too weak to move me, but I understood what her touch was begging for. For the pain to stop. For the pressure to ease. I could not give in to her, not if I wanted to save her life. Sweat beaded on my forehead and ran down my face as I kept pressure on the wound that would _not_ stop bleeding.

Leliana's eyes slammed shut; her face drained of color, leaving even her lips pale. Her breathing accelerated until she breathed in nothing but short bursts of air…then her chest ceased its frenetic rise and fall. The hand around my wrist slackened its grip and her body sagged into the mattress.

 _She's unconscious_ , my mind raced with useless, obvious thoughts. _But is she unconscious from the blood loss or from the pain? Maker's breath…I need a healer! I need help! I cannot do this alone!_

"I cannot do this alone." I whispered, hearing desperation in my voice for the first time since Antony died…in a room not so dissimilar to this one…with a shriek not so unlike the one just wrenched from Leliana's throat…while his blood poured from his body and stained the sheets below him.

 _Oh my dear Maker,_ a lump formed in my throat and the cuts on my face burned, _did the blade go all the way through?_

I exerted more pressure on the wound to her abdomen, hoping that the herbs in the poultice would do their work. I did not know enough about the art of healing to do Leliana any good. I had been all but useless in the kitchens, helping Tristan Trevelyan. I could not be so useless now. My prayers did not cease as I kept a hand pressed over the worst of Leliana's injuries, not even daring to think of the other two punctures.

Begging for strength, begging for help, I rolled Leliana's unconscious body onto her side, horrified when I saw the pool of blood staining the sheets, and the smaller wound in her back where the tip of our attacker's blade burst from the skin. My stomach clenched and twisted as I ran out of the room, remembering the aftermath of one particular fight…a battle that haunted me to this day. It had been during my training with the Seekers. An exercise. A war game that became anything but when a starving wyvern attacked my squad. I had few friends among those I trained with, but there had been one.

 _Moira_ …her name whispered through my thoughts as it had not done in quite some time. _The wyvern lashed out with its spiked tail and caught Moira…in the belly. We were days removed from any manner of aid. We did all that we could…_ _ **I**_ _did all that I could to help her and to heal her. But it did no good. When the sun rose on the next morning, Moira had a fever. No matter how fast we traveled, we could not outrun the sickness. Her wound festered, the infection claimed her, and she died on the sixth day…she died in agony, holding my hand, alternating between delirious murmurings of the Chant of Light and begging me and the Maker to make the pain stop. I cannot watch Leliana endure that. I_ _ **cannot.**_

I jumped down the last few stairs and landed on the tavern floor, startling the bartender and his wife, the sole two left in the tavern. The bartender looked up from the table he was cleaning and his wife moved from behind the bar, the rustle of parchment following her. I knew I must look a fright, my hair mussed, my face cut and bloodied, my hands and sleeves soaked scarlet with Leliana's lifeblood.

"I require aid." the words tumbled out of my mouth. "My friend and I were attacked by the men who began the brawl earlier. She is badly wounded and needs a healer mage."

The bartender's brows, broad and thick as a caterpillar, furrowed into a deep frown and I knew it boded ill. His shoulders slumped and I looked from him to his wife in desperation, needing them to say _something_.

"That doesn't happen in Ostwick, milady." he spoke at last. "In this city, magic is against the Maker, even healing magic."

"That is preposterous!" I shouted, feeling my heart constrict into a tight ball of fear.

"Aye." his wife assented, looking as grim as her husband. "But you cannot persuade Knight-Commander Caleb Trevelyan, son of our _righteous_ lord and lady, otherwise." she spat the words. "Even if you carried your friend to the Circle tower, he would deny you a mage's aid."

 _I am the Right Hand of the Divine Justinia!_ I wanted to roar, but I could not. I remembered Tristan's words, how our presence, if known, would embitter the people of Ostwick and make it appear that the Chantry endorsed the Trevelyan's actions. It would also cause our informant to disappear into the ether they had emerged from. _I am the Right Hand and I can do_ _ **nothing!**_ _Leliana would not want us to sacrifice the mission, the chance for this vital information._

"Does the Chantry here not oversee the Circle tower?" I asked, desperate, willing to reveal myself to the revered mother of the Ostwick Chantry if it would allow me a mage to heal Leliana. "Could I not make an appeal to the revered mother for a mage's aid?"

"You could." the bartender shrugged, but his tone indicated otherwise. "But I highly doubt that Revered Mother Alathea Trevelyan would be any more open to your request than her brother."

"Do you have a physician in this city?" I asked, desperate, in my mind promising to remember to bring up the troublesome rule of the Trevelyans to Most Holy when I returned to Val Royeaux.

 _But first Leliana and I must_ _ **both**_ _leave alive! Most Holy will never forgive me if any ill befalls Leliana. Oh, Maker, please, let there be_ _ **someone**_ _who can help me!_

"Our city guardsmen are on maneuvers." the bartender informed me. "The town physician goes with them. We've a midwife who lives nearby, but there is no guarantee that she will be at home. Sarah, help the woman. I'll go and fetch Nira."

"Thank you." I called after the man, and turned to Sarah. "I need clear malt liquor, if you have it."

"Go up to your friend." Sarah ordered. "I'll put water on to boil and fetch what you might need. How bad off is she?"

I shook my head and threw up my bloodstained hands in despair. "She has lost a great deal of blood…and my area of skill is the drawing of blood, not the succor of it."

I raced back up the stairs and into the room, struck anew with terror when I saw Leliana lying on the bed, streams of blood flowing down her sides, her lips parted, her hair askew across her face. I ran to her side, somewhat heartened to see that the flow of blood from the worst of her wounds had slowed. Praying that it was a good sign, I drew a knife from my belt and cut through her shirt, up from the bottom and across the sleeve, tossing the dirty material aside.

"Maker, I beg you for all I do not possess." I murmured as I tugged her arm away and saw the other two stab wounds, one two inches below her armpit, the other four inches below. "I ask that you give my hands surety, my mind knowledge, and that you stand with me here in this room, guiding me so that I might help my friend, so that I might save her life."

I reached for the last two poultices, pressing them against the second and third stab wounds, glancing down at the worst one…the one that could kill her. Frowning, I reached up and felt for the pulse in her neck. I could feel it, but it was too fast. Much too fast. I needed her to be awake, alert, able to tell my shaking hands what to do.

 _How did this happen?_ I wondered. _How on earth did this happen?_

I moved around the bed and knelt down beside her, facing her. "Leliana." I tapped lightly on her cheek. "Leliana, I need you to wake up." she did not respond. I tapped her cheek a little harder. "Wake up, damn you!" I shouted, burying my face in the mattress, fisting the sheets in hands that _would not stop shaking!_

A soft moan met my ears and I looked up, meeting Leliana's bleary blue eyes. In them I saw the sheer amount of agony she felt, but behind that I saw a light…the light of a woman who had lived through hell. A woman who could endure unimaginable suffering.

"C-C-Cass…andra?" her voice was soft, full of pain, a thread of spider silk.

"Yes." I assured her, combing her hair back with my fingers, tucking it behind her ear, trying not to worry that it was soaked through with sweat. "Yes, Leliana, I am here."

"Mmm…" she attempted to speak, swallowed, and attempted again. "Am…am I…still…bleeding?"

"A little, yes." I nodded, keeping my eyes locked with hers, afraid that she would slip under the black again at any moment. "The poultices are doing their work, but you need more than what the herbs can do. I will not regale you with the details, but there are no healers available to us, mage or otherwise. The tavern-keeper's wife, Sarah, will be coming to help me, but neither of us know what we are doing. I am _begging_ you to remain conscious."

"I shall try." she promised, and a single tear fell from her eye and slipped down the bridge of her nose.

I wiped it away, terrified of its ramifications. I had seen many soldiers on the battlefield shed tears such as these. Tears of knowledge and acceptance of their death. Leliana could not die. I had seen in her too much worth saving, worth living, worth knowing and understanding.

"Leliana?" I asked as her eyes went distant. "Why do you weep?"

"The pain is…almost unbearable." Leliana murmured and my heart broke for her. She did not deserve this. Had I not been blindsided by our attacker, had she not tried to save my life, our positions would have been reversed.

"Did Kathyra send you with anything for pain?" I asked, glad that she seemed awake and aware, hoping against all odds that she would remain so.

"Yes." Leliana answered and I shot to my feet, prepared to fetch it, but I stopped at the slight shake of her head on the pillow. "I cannot." she whispered. "It…slows the heartbeat…I would…slip into sleep…and die." for some obscene, absurd reason, she said those words with a smile.

"What about death would make you smile?" I asked, disturbed by her expression.

"Salem." Leliana breathed her beloved's name. "I would…see her again."

My own lips trembled. I understood and I did not wish to understand. I needed to focus on saving her life…and for that I needed for her to desire to _live_.

"Belay that for now, Leliana." I begged her, attempting to make my voice strong enough to turn it into an order. "Help me, please. Help me save you."

The door of the room slammed open and Sarah bustled in. Leliana turned her face towards the sound, her breathing caught in her chest and she began coughing. The hoarse, ragged sound cut at my heart, until I saw the poultice fall away from the wound, and blood pour forth once more.


	40. Chapter 40

**Leliana**

I struggled. I struggled to breathe, to blink, to do everything that should have been simple. And I struggled because of the warm whiskey eyes that looked into mine, filled with so much worry and concern that I swore I looked at a different woman. This was not the Cassandra Pentaghast I had known, the woman who would have let the wounded continue to suffer in order to give a mission report. But she had been conditioned. Used. Abused. I knew. I understood. I empathized in so many ways. I knew the horrific fight of returning from that place. Thus, I struggled.

"Maker's breath." I heard a foreign voice, the tavern keeper's wife, Sarah. She sounded horrified. "What can…what do…where do you need me?"

"Sarah, this is Leliana." Cassandra's voice rested on the edge of snapping, it was so tight. "My name is Cassandra."

"Cass…" I could not gather enough breath to say her full name. Her eyes turned to me and for the flare flicker of a moment, the amber whiskey flashed to silver-blue…a reminder of a woman who cared...a reason to struggle. A reason to continue the arduous task of finishing my sentence. "You…have to…stop…the bleeding."

The Seeker's lips trembled and in her eyes I could see fear. Fear that manifested when she spoke. "I don't know how." she breathed. "Leliana, the blade…the blade pierced you through. Poultices, pressure, bandaging…it…"

"It will not…be enough." I finished the words that she could not say, and she nodded.

A cool cloth came to rest on my forehead, held there by a strong, callused hand…the hand of a good woman. I could sense Sarah's kindness, her willingness to help…the kindness of a stranger, in a situation such as this, could be more useful than the kindness of a friend.

 _A friend?_ I questioned myself, unable to stop the moan that slipped from my lips when Sarah's hand wiped the sweat from my brow and my cheeks. _Have I come to consider Cassandra a friend? To forget what transpired between us in the past and move forward from here? To be as Justinia would wish us to be? Right and left…more than friends. Sisters._

"No." Cassandra nodded. "Tell me what to do, Leliana. Tell me, and I will do it, whatever it takes, I swear it."

 _She will not like what I tell her next. But it is what must be done. Oh, my Maker, give me strength. Give me strength for I am preparing once more to enter hell._

"Irons." my voice rasped. "We need…hot irons."

Cassandra's dusky skin became ashen. Her lips trembled and I saw myriad horrors playing out in her eyes. The cool cloth trailed over my face once again, clearing my head, allowing me to think. Even though I did not trust my vision because of the blurred edges and spiking white flashes, I could see a minute shake of the raven haired head. There was blood on her face. Those wounds would scar if she did not treat them, clean them, and get the one on the left side of her face stitched. But she would not care for herself until she felt I was safe.

 _So very much like Salem…the woman who would bleed out until everyone else had been looked after._

"Leliana…there must be another way." Cassandra protested, as I had known she would. We did not have time for her protestations, however. I could feel thick, hot blood sluicing down my body, dripping into my navel, oozing down my spine. "What if you are bleeding elsewhere, Leliana?" she asked, her voice taut with worry. "Deep, within the wound? We may burn the exterior wounds closed, but you could still bleed out inside your body."

"A…risk…worth taking." I breathed. "Cass…I…" I shifted the slightest bit and gasped as my wounds shrieked as if they were torn open anew. "…I…don't have…much time. It is this or…or I bleed out…before your eyes."

"I won't have a good soul die in my inn." Sarah claimed and I heard footsteps going toward the door. "I've got some pokers I can put in the coals, and I'll do so."

The door shut behind her and I saw Cassandra as I had never seen her before. Filled with desperation. Grasping at the situation and unable to keep a grip on it. Unable to control it. Justinia told me that, when Cassandra became a Seeker, she had been touched by a spirit of faith. I needed her faith now. But I would also need the incarnation of the first Cassandra that I had met. I would need someone ruthless and merciless.

"Cass." I drew her attention to me once more before she began tearing out her hair. "Cass…keep pressure." I attempted to wave my hand in the vague direction of the wound.

"I do not want to do this, Leliana." Cassandra stated, her hand returning to the blood-drenched poultice and bandages that covered the puncture in my gut. I hissed as she applied gentle pressure. "There has…there has to be another way."

"There is not." my mouth felt so dry, my words scraped against my tongue and my gums and they hurt. "Cassandra, you…must listen…and do…all that I say. Promise me…please."

I watched her inner debate take place. Her lips pursed, her brows furrowed, and her eyes flashed like a commander's on a battlefield. She held all of our options in her mind, weighing and balancing them against each other and, at last, realizing that I was right. It took the matter of a few breaths for her to do so, but it felt like years. My body was burning, my heart slowing, and I knew, in the back of my mind, that what I planned to do was a stop-gap measure at best.

 _Cassandra is right. We have no way of knowing if I am bleeding internally…but still…we must control the blood loss that we can._

"I promise." Cassandra conceded, and, if I had possessed the breath, I would have sighed with relief.

"Listen…close." I ordered her. "Two…hot irons. One to my back…one front." I paused and took a shuddering inhale. "I will…likely…faint."

"No." Cassandra shook her head and I heard steel in her tone. "Leliana, I know next to nothing of wound care. I need you to tell me what to do, so that…so that you…have a chance."

"Cass." I breathed her name and she calmed. I could feel myself fading, but I had to stay awake. I had kept my consciousness before…under torture. I knew what I required. I would do what I needed to…injuring my psyche to save my life. "When the…time comes…do _exactly_ …as I say." I gritted my teeth as pain flooded me yet again in waves, begging me to take steps to end it so that it could cease screaming. "When Sarah returns…hold the irons before my eyes." I swallowed dry air; my throat was parched. "Tell me…what you intend to do. How it will feel…every…gruesome…detail."

Cassandra paled another shade, and I prayed that she would be given the fortitude and the wherewithal to do as I asked her. "Go on." she murmured.

"Give me…something to…bite down on." I instructed her, watching her nod as she comprehended the orders. "And…if I ask you to…strike me. Open palm…across the face."

"I will not cause more damage to your person." Cassandra sounded aghast at the notion. "Why would you ask me to do such a thing?"

"To keep me…awake." I offered her the weakest of smiles.

"It will not work." Cassandra denied. "What under the sun would make you think that terrifying you and causing you _more_ pain would help you retain consciousness?'

"It worked…" I breathed, "…when they…tortured me."


	41. Chapter 41

**Cassandra**

I did not want to do this. I wanted no part of it…Leliana spoke of the time she was tortured. I had been so focused on the wounds that I had not truly seen the rest of her body but…but I saw it now. The deep, horrific scarring…the lines of branding along every single rib. The hashmarks cut into her collarbones, deep and horrendous…a physical proof of fourteen days of anguish and agony. I could not believe that she had asked me to backspiral into that place.

 _How strong Leliana's mind must be, for there is nothing but resolve in her eyes…resolve and an immense amount of suffering and pain. There are many reasons that I still dislike Salem Cousland, but I cannot deny…I would not have the strength to carry the heart of a woman who has been as broken and ravaged as Leliana. Salem must have been…a good woman. She must have been kind in a way that I never witnessed…because I never did anything to warrant her kindness._

I bit my lip, waiting, keeping pressure on the worst of the wounds, knowing that I would need Leliana's help when the bleeding was stopped. There were still the other two injuries. There was still so much to do.

 _Oh, Maker, where are you in this moment? Will you not honor her service to you, all that she has given up? Her home? Her former life? The life of the woman she loved? Will you not hear her cries of pain?_

I lifted my eyes from prayer and noticed that Leliana's eyes were closed. She had drawn her knees up so that the wound to her abdomen did not pull, and her arms were cradled tightly against her uncovered chest. She looked like an innocent child fighting a nightmare and my heart broke for her. The woman I had once hated, once despised, had begun to find a place in my heart.

"Leliana?" I asked, hoping that she had not passed out once again. "Leliana, are you asleep?"

"No." she whispered, hoarse and exhausted. "I am…finding a place away. Away from the pain."

"Oh?" I asked, intrigued and…and wanting to keep her speaking, to keep her anchored in this world, for I was terrified that she might slip into the next and this world…this world needed Leliana Cousland. "Might I ask where it is that you go?"

Her lips moved in the softest, most fleeting of smiles. "Amaranthine." she breathed with a joy that did not belong in the mention of that backwards country. "The highest point of Vigil's Keep. We would look out…on the grasses…and Salem would hold me in her arms…press her lips against my neck." Leliana coughed, light, and winced in pain. "Quiet moments." she said with a wistfulness that I wished I could find in my own tones…for it would mean that I had loved deeply and found another to whom I could give all of myself. "Quiet moments that…meant everything to me. The love she could convey in…in absolute silence."

I watched as tears of a darker, sweeter, harsher pain slipped from Leliana's eyes and down her cheeks. A pain so eloquent and personal that I found any words I might offer stuck in my throat, for I could sense a holy memory in her words, in her mind, and that such a memory removed the pain of her body, lifting her above it.

However, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and the scent of heated irons struck me and I realized that I would have to become the villain once more. I did not know if I could bear this. I did not know if I could stand and willingly cause her pain…I also knew that there had been a time when I would have leapt at the chance to hurt this woman. That knowledge hurt me more than standing here, useless as I was, and bearing witness to what amounted to torture.

 _How could I ever have been so bitter? Oh, Maker, I do not know how to do this._

Sarah entered the room and I saw the pokers she held in her hands, the ends of them glowing a burning red. A nightmarish burning red. A red that would haunt me for the rest of my days…I was certain of it.

"Cassandra." Leliana spoke my name, but it did not seem as though it were her voice. It held a depth and resonance that I had not heard from her except…except on the day that the hand of a god had stayed my angry blade. "Cassandra, this is what must be done. You are forgiven and protected. Have no fear."

 _Have no fear for I am with you_ …I steeled my heart as Leliana's eyes opened. Her body seemed to shrink, as though it had been briefly inhabited by a stronger voice and stronger spirit…how was I to know that it had not? Leliana had been called, truly called. I had merely chosen to serve. Between the two of us, I could see now that she was the one with the greater burden…a burden that once I envied. I did not envy it now.

"Sarah…" Leliana's voice crackled out, "…at my back, if you will. Cassandra…" her voice grew weaker, "…you know…what to do."

With trembling legs I moved and with quaking hands I took a poker from the stoic wife of the tavern keeper, whose eyes were filled with more resolve than mine. But of course, they would be. She helped a stranger out of an innate kindness. I would be…I would be torturing a friend. As she had told me to do, I held the red hot end of the poker before Leliana's open eyes.

"You know what this is." I forced my voice not to tremble. "You know what it will do to you. Your flesh will be seared and you will scream in pain and all that you have kept hidden in your heart will pour fourth into our ears. All the strength you believe you possess will be stolen from you." I saw not fear, not nightmare, but sheer _terror_ bloom across her countenance and her body flinched in the way of one who _knew_ true agony.

 _She asked me to do this so that her heart would beat faster, so that she would feel the need for survival and use it to override the pain that would drag her into unconsciousness. This is…this is by far the worst thing that I have ever done…and the best woman I have been committing this atrocity._

I held the poker closer to her face, so that she would feel the heat of it flowing across her skin, and with my other hand I placed my leather bracer between her teeth.

"Such beautiful features." I did not know where these words came from, but they fell from my lips and I despised myself. "It would be such a shame to mar them if my hand slipped." Leliana whimpered and I saw the pulse at her neck fluttering beneath the skin, rapid and afraid, like the trembling heart of a captured rabbit.

"Sarah, now." I commanded, begging for forgiveness.

Both of us moved in accord, laying the hot irons across Leliana's alabaster flesh. She bit down on the leather of the bracer I had tucked between her teeth and an unholy _shriek_ ripped from the room as her body convulsed against the pain. Steam rose from her skin, carrying with it the horrific scent of scorched meat. Her legs kicked out in rapid spasms and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sheets, every scream torn out of her until she did nothing but gasp against the bracer.

"Ca…ss." she choked, and I knew that I would have nightmares of this moment, for I knew what she asked.

I lifted my hand and, with an open palm, struck her soundly across the cheek, hearing the loud crack of skin against skin, feeling my hand sting from the force of the blow. A sharp gasp hitched out of her throat, she spat the bracer out onto the pillow, saliva dripping from the corners of her mouth, her cheeks drenched with the salt of her tears. Sarah and I pulled the irons away, wincing as bits of seared flesh came away on them.

Leliana rolled onto her back and struggled to lift her legs, but she did not have the strength. I cast the poker to the floor in disgust and took the weight of her legs in my arms, lifting them so that her feet rested on the mattress with her knees raised so that the seared wound did not tear open anew. I could see the taut, corded muscles in her neck as she strained to conquer the agony shredding through her body.

 _So strong…so very strong, with a grace that one so injured should not be capable of possessing._

I sat down beside her, cupped her face with my hands, and drew her eyes to mine, hoping that the panic would flee my gaze so that I could impart comfort.

"It is done." I assured her. "Leliana, it is done. Come back from your fear and breathe easy. You are all right now, I swear it. The worst is over."

"Pro…mise?" her voice emerged as a tear-stained squeak and it shattered something inside me.

"I do." I swore, knowing that I would do everything in my power to make it so. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, knowing all that it would mean to an Orlesian, how very intimate it was, and knowing that she would not misinterpret it. "Breathe easy. Rest. And tell me how to ease your pain."

"Stitching." she whispered, a beleagured hand reaching up and brushing near the cut on my cheek that I had all but forgotten. "Your wound needs…stitching."

I felt tears in my eyes.

 _How can she do such a thing? How can she endure what we just put her through, then look to me and…and_ _ **worry**_ _over a superficial cut? Maker, this…I... **how** was I so blind as to not see the beauty in this woman that is surely __**your spirit**_ _within her own?_

My tears fell.

"Yours first." I whispered through my grief. "Let me tend your wounds first. Then you can sleep…sleep and escape the pain."

Her head listed on the pillow, falling towards me. She reached out, tentative, hurting, her eyes shining with some emotion I could neither translate nor fathom. Her hand came to rest over mine and I could feel the tremors running through it, the aftershocks of agony.

"Forgive me, Cassandra." she pleaded. "I…judged you…so wrongly…long ago. Forgive me…my unkindness. I…beg you."

Her words met my ears, and everything within me shattered.


	42. Chapter 42

**Leliana**

Floating…drifting…dim sensations of words spoken, decisions made, choices…I spoke, but I remained uncertain as to why, or what. I hoped that I said what was needed, but I wanted nothing more than to sleep. In dreams, perhaps, I might find respite from this pain. But in the waking world there was nothing but the fire that consumed me, burning through my bones, scouring my nerves, reminding me of horror upon horror upon travesty. My body had been stolen from me once before…in the dim, in the back of my mind, I wondered if it would be stolen again.

Through the fog and the uncertainty, I could hear the rise and fall of two voices, the rustles of searching and gathering, the hushed whispers of worried collaborations. I remembered all of this from long ago, in the great Chantry of Val Royeaux…Mother Dorothea conferring with the physicians…the woman herself's hands nursing me back to health. Mother Dorothea now reigned as Justinia…she had become the Mother to all the world. The woman closest to the Maker's love and eyes and side. It felt so strange, the flying of time. Watching the changes. Growing older in a way that I never thought I would grow old.

"Better my hands than yours." I heard Sarah speaking through the bleary haze of what I was considering to be consciousness. "As I've stitched more than a ripped seam. You are her friend…"

"After this night and after what I have done," Cassandra murmured, "I am no longer certain if that is the truth."

 _Poor Cassandra,_ my weary thoughts wandered through my mind with no stay or logic to guide them, _her eyes so dark and filled with storms. She stands on the crest of the waves and fears returning to the sea for it is churning and unfriendly. She seeks out the dark places in the world and walks into them, expecting them to fissure and to break and when they do not she becomes lost and world-worn and weary._

 _There is beauty in the darkness, dear Cassandra. There is beauty in the darkness if you allow it to embrace you. You need not stand so rigid against the forces of the world. Let the dark take you, on occasion. Only on occasion. It is amazing the places where you can find peace._

"I'm not angry with you, Cassandra." I whispered, drawing her attention. The rest of the room shivered and blurred but I could see her there, cutting a path through my bleariness and dizziness. "You did what…I asked and I will…harbor no ill will against you."

"This is going to hurt her, Cassandra." Sarah spoke, and I winced as I felt my left arm tugged away from the other two wounds. "Four hands aren't needed to clean and stitch, so I suggest you keep her comfortable."

Cassandra paled. "I do not…I do not think that I…"

"Cass…" I had no inhibitions now, and it did not seem that she minded my use of the shortened version of her name. I could see the storms inside her gaze…there was a reason that she feared being here, and it had nothing to do with anything that had transpired this night. "It is a…silly request. Do you think you could…run your hand through my hair? I have always found it…soothing."

Cass' lips seemed to curl into some queer little grimace and I wanted to laugh at the strangeness of the expression, but I did not have the breath to do so. Instead, I tried to smile, but I did not know if the expression traveled well enough from my mind and heart to my lips.

"There's a pitcher of cool, fresh well water on the dresser there." Sarah directed. "I'm certain she wouldn't mind the sweat being wiped away. Is it me alone, milady, or do her cheeks look a mite flushed?"

Again I felt the piercing gaze of Cassandra's whiskey warm eyes. Her hand reached up and rested on my forehead as her eyes closed and lips pursed. The hand ventured from my forehead to both of my cheeks.

"She's cool and clammy." the Right Hand's voice held worry. "But I suppose that is to be expected with the blood loss."

"Aye." Sarah replied, pulling a bottle from the table near the bedside. I could not see its contents through the erratic haze of my vision, which focused and unfocused with its own will. "It will take a bit of time to recover from these injuries, but so long as she doesn't spike a fever, then all should be well."

I heard the cracking of clay, the splash of water, and a muffled curse. "Did we…did we do anything to prevent infection?" Cassandra asked.

"You did all you could." I spoke before Sarah could, attempting to give Cassandra some peace of mind. I was not the only one who needed to rest…but I, unlike Cassandra, did not need the lie I had just told.

 _There is always a great risk of infection with cauterization…and in our haste to stop the bleeding we did not clean the wound properly. It is_ _ **beyond**_ _likely that, by the time we return to Kirkwall, I will be very, very ill._

"Was it enough, Leliana?" Cassandra murmured, unconscious of the vulnerability etched into her voice…and how beautiful it looked spread across her features. Soft. Gentle. Not weak. Never weak.

"Yes." I lied again, knowing that she needed to hear those words. That she needed the affirmation. "Please, sit. You must be…exhausted."

Cassandra sat down beside me, making certain that she did not make my head tilt in an uncomfortable position. A cool cloth came to rest on my forehead and, with gentle sweeps, she wiped away the sweat from pain and blood loss. Then, a cup came to rest at my lips, filled with water. Even though I felt I could drink an ocean, I took small sips so that I did not become sick and further complicate my injuries by vomiting.

"Kathyra is going to flay me alive." Cassandra muttered as she began to smoothe her fingers through my hair, causing me to moan in comfort and satisfaction. "She told me she had concerns, and it would seem they are validated."

"We…could not have known…" I attempted to comfort her, "…that this would happen. Kathyra is…a very forgiving woman."

"Not as it comes to you." I could hear a rueful smile in Cassandra's voice. "You are…you are loved. Cherished, even."

I heard the sound of a bottle being uncorked, then my arm and my chest caught fire. I whimpered and tried to move away from the source of the heat, but Cassandra held me firm, whispering in my ear nonsense about the swift passage of time. She did not understand…she did not burn alive.

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and held me close as I felt the fire be wiped away, and the sting of the needle piercing my flesh, stitching me back together as though I were a quilt. I remembered this sensation, the prick of the needle and the pull of the thread, burning as it traveled through layer upon layer of my skin. So many times during the Blight…Salem had always…she had held me between her legs, my back against her stomach, my head pillowed on her breasts. She had known how much I hated to be reminded of the time after my torture, the grueling healing that had taken almost all of my strength…she had known and offered me all of her and all of her strength. I missed that so very much. I missed someone who…who knew, without ever having to ask, without ever having had been told.

The prick and pull of the needle continued, as did the soothing motions of Cassandra's hand through my hair, the murmured encouragements, and, at long last, the whisper in my ear that I had been begging for.

"Rest now, Leliana." Cassandra guided my head back onto the pillow. "Just rest. The worst is over."

 _Is it?_ I wondered as I caved to blood loss, pain, and exhaustion. _Is the worst ever over, Cassandra? In this, my life…I think not._


	43. Chapter 43

**Cassandra**

After a long moment of anxious waiting, Sarah spoke. "It looks like she's sleeping at last."

The broad-shouldered, plain-featured woman with mousy brown hair looked like an angel to me as she finished tying off the last of the bandaging around Leliana's upper body. The former bard shifted in her sleep with a soft, vulnerable moan that whipped like fire across the raw landscape of my soul. Had it not been for Sarah remaining composed and clam, I might have lost my sanity and composure long ago.

"Yes." I whispered, slowly extricating myself from the bed where I had sat beside Leliana, running my fingers through her hair as she had asked, while Sarah stitched the last two wounds closed.

I felt stiff, wooden, as if I had been chained in one place for days on end. Every single joint ached; every muscle burned, and with every step I took, I felt I would break apart further. I poured the last of the water into the washbasin, wishing that I could look away as I cleansed my hands. I could not, however. I watched as the dried blood on my skin stained the water a bright orange, reminding me of another time…a time I did not wish to be reminded of, for it felt so close to this one.

"You should probably have those cuts on your face seen too, milady." Sarah rose from her seat and joined me at the washbasin, cleansing her hands as well. "Your friend seemed quite upset about the wounds there."

"Indeed." I spoke, barely in control of my voice, feeling capable of nothing but one-word answers.

"It's obvious that she cares for you a great deal." Sarah continued, her rough voice and its Ostwick accent possessing a strange quality that soothed me. "She mentioned your injuries at least twice during…during her ordeal. I must admit to you, and hope you don't think me forward, but I find your friend's tolerance for pain a mite unusual. Most I know would have fainted dead away from the mere stitching, let alone the…the rest."

I looked up and saw my reflection in the small mirror that hung above the washbasin. The cut on my right cheek was short, and small, though the amount of blood on that side of my face caused me to believe that it was deep, deep enough to require stitching, had it been longer. The cut on my left cheek, on the other hand, would require many stitches to be closed properly. However, whether they were treated or not, both of the wounds would scar. Of that, I was certain.

 _I do not know why I am bothered by that fact,_ I thought, allowing numb to fall over me as Sarah dipped a cloth in the basin and began cleaning the dried blood from my face. _I am a warrior and, for one such as I, scars are a badge of honor. However, it grieves me to think of the deeper, uglier scars that will be stamped on Leliana's body. Already, her beauty has been stolen, at least it has been in the feeble eyes of man. Tonight, I have taken inconsequential damage…but Leliana might still take a turn for the worse. Maker, I beg you, be kind to her. Allow her to heal._

I remained unfeeling as the tavern-keeper's wife guided me to a chair and helped me sit down. My eyes remained riveted to the bed where Leliana lay. I could not look away from the bright, scarlet stains on the sheets. In my exhaustion, phantom shapes coalesced around the bed, phantom voices began ringing in my ears. I hardly registered the sting of alcohol in my cuts, cleansing them from whatever filth might have been on our attacker's knife. I noticed even less the first prick of the curved needle when it invaded my cheek. I had gotten lost in the scarlet stains, the remembered screams, the flow of blood that could not be stopped…

* * *

 _… "Anthony!" I scream my brother's name, raw and pure desperation shredding out of my twelve year old throat. "Anthony!"_

 _My body is preparing to move, my muscles tensing. I am preparing to run, preparing to fly to my brother's side. I do not know why he has fallen. Anthony never falls. He is always standing, always strong, always there for me. There is a harsh hand on my shoulder. It is not strong, nor is it warm. It is harsh. It is cold. It is the hand of my uncle, a Mortalitasi, a man more enamored of death than life._

 _I pull away from my uncle's harsh hand. It is all too easy to do, even though I am young and a woman, two things that mean I am ignored in this house, save by the servants, whose responsibility it is to care for me now. It is the servants who carry Anthony into the house. My uncle does nothing but shout my name, expecting that it will be enough to halt me. It is not. Not when I see the crimson spatters on the floor and hear the groan of a man in agony floating down the stairs._

 _I race up the stairs, following the sound of the screaming. There is no one at the door to guard it, no one to stop me, and I rush into the room, watching our groomsmen place Anthony's body onto the bed. My brother's head is thrown back, his eyes open, his lips parted, his jaw locked wide as he cries out in and against the pain._

 _"Anthony!" I shout his name and rush for the bed, only to be caught by one of the groomsmen, his muscled arm resting against my abdomen, capable of holding me back no matter how much I thrash against him, trying to get to my brother._

 _"Milady Cassandra, this is no sight for you." the groomsman says in a rough voice, but it does not matter._

 _I might only be twelve years of age, but I am not ignorant. I know that my parents were executed for treason. I know that Anthony and I live only under the king's grace, and his desire not to dirty his hands with the blood of children and prove that those who wished to rebel against him were correct in their assumptions of his despotism._

 _"Let me go!" I shriek, trying to push past the groomsman, to get to my brother. There is blood dripping off of his fingers and no one is looking for the wounds, no one is stopping the bleeding._

 _They do not understand. My uncle is a ghoul. He will do nothing for Anthony; he is too concerned for the dead. My brother_ _ **must**_ _live! This is not how it is meant to be. I_ _ **cannot**_ _lose him! I_ _ **will**_ _ **not**_ _lose him!_

 _Even though I am still struggling against the full grown man who holds me back, even though I know I will not win, I still fight to get to him. Anthony hears me and turns his head. I can see a line of blood trailing down his chin from the corner of his mouth. I can see nothing but pain in his eyes. Eyes that look like my mother's. He has her soft, chestnut hair as well. I am my father's daughter. Through and through. I know my brother is suffering, but when he sees me, the pain in his gaze fades to an expression of steely resolve. I can see that he loves me. He is the one person in this kingdom, and in the insane, internally besieged royal family, who cares for me at all. It shows in his face. It shows in the fact that his lips are moving. He is attempting to speak. I stop struggling because I want to hear him._

 _"Cassie." he whispers, ragged, and more blood slides out of his mouth as he speaks the name I will allow no one but him to say. "Cassie…be brave…"_

 _"The healer will be here soon." one of the servants says. I look up to see the familiar face of my uncle's nurse, a woman who cares for his fragile health. She knows a great deal about herbs and tonics, but she can do nothing for a man who is bleeding from the mouth, the blood stemming from internal injury. I am only twelve years old…but I am an ancient twelve years. "Milady Cassandra, you cannot be here. It is for your brother's own good."_

 _"Let me stay!" I beg, feeling,_ _ **knowing**_ _, that if I remain in the room, I can keep him alive. By sheer force of will, I can keep him alive. "Let me stay I have to_ _ **stay!**_ _"_

 _"Milady…"_

 _"Let…her…stay…" Anthony whispers, even as his body begins to shake with the first signs of shock._

 _The groomsman lets go of me and I rush towards my brother, grabbing his hand in my own,_ _ **willing**_ _him to stay alive, because I know that he will. It does not matter how he was hurt. All that matters is that he will be okay. And that he will teach me how to hunt dragons. And I will stand beside him on his wedding day and we will leave our uncle's house and we will live together and we will be happy in our own home._

 _"I'm here, big brother." I speak to him, knowing that hearing my voice will give him strength. "I love you, Anthony."_

 _He tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. I do not care. He is moving, not screaming, and he looks more like my brother than the man made of pain. "Love you…too…Cassie."_

* * *

"There you are." Sarah's voice snapped me out of my reverie, the memory that I could not forget, no matter how much I desired to. "I apologize for it not looking the best, but skin's a mite different than stitching a quilt. Quilts tend not to twitch when the needle goes in."

"Thank you, Sarah." I murmured, reaching up and tracing the line of the cut, feeling the silk thread that held it together. "I promise that all you have given us will not be in vain. We will gladly cover the cost of the possessions we have damaged."

"I'm just doing my work." Sarah smiled. "Taking care of my customers. You need to rest, milady, almost as much as your friend. And don't give me any nonsense about having to watch over her. I work the night through, preparing tomorrow's meals, equalizing the books, and such. I'll look in on the both of you every now and again, and wake you if there's any trouble."

"Sarah…I…I do not know what to say." I let my pride flutter away for the woman was right. I required rest, for my exhaustion ran deep, and there still existed the reason we had come to Ostwick. "Maker bless you for your unmeasurable kindness."

"You just get some rest." Sarah patted me on the shoulder and stood up. "Morning's not but four candlemarks away, and I imagine you've things to attend to."

"We do." I breathed, praying that Leliana would have the strength to face what must be done tomorrow.

I did not want to think about tomorrow. I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Leliana's soft, shallow breaths. The memory I had revisited, ignored for years, sent chills deep into my bones. Anthony had been beaten when he denied his services as a dragon hunter to a group of maleficar. The healer had come, and my brother had been given back to me.

Two days later, I saw Anthony's head removed from his body by a sword, wielded by the blood mage he had denied. From that day forward, I feared healing. I feared it because it would mean, later, having to risk losing the injured again. I did not wish to endure that, or think of it. I did not think I could bear such a thing. I closed my eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain in my cheek. I could do nothing now but dream.

I could do nothing now but pray.


	44. Chapter 44

**Leliana**

"Cassandra, stop hovering." I smiled at the woman who sat across from me, waiting at a table in a shadowed corner of the tavern, hoping that the midday sun would soon be overhead.

She glowered at me and made a disgusted noise that came from somewhere, I felt certain, deep in her _soul_. "I do not _hover_." she spat the last word with complete disdain. "I am seated here, calm, waiting for our informant to arrive."

"With overtly surreptitious glances in my direction every other breath." I countered. "You are far less stealthy than you think."

Her lips pursed in what I knew was annoyance. "Your cheeks are flushed, and not with health or sun, while the rest of you is whiter than bleached parchment. Your skin is hot to the touch, and when I changed your bandages this morning, your wound was weeping pus and blood. No matter that you are capable of walking under your own power and currently holding down food, you are _unwell_. I reserve the right to care for your condition, if only in self-preservation."

She stopped speaking and I lifted a single, inquisitive eyebrow in her direction, crossing my arms and waiting for her to elaborate.

"When we return to Kirkwall, Kathyra is going to take a single look at you and skewer me." Cassandra murmured. "I am supposed to protect you."

The Seeker's stark, severe, beautiful features fell. I saw upon her countenance the same expression that Salem had worn when any other, save herself, sustained an injury during the Blight. It was the look of a leader who believed they had failed. I fell silent for a moment, preparing to speak to Cassandra as I had spoken to Salem, so often, long ago.

"Cassandra," I said with great gentleness, drawing her eyes to mine, "there is nothing that you could have done differently, or better. We could not have foreseen our attacker, or anticipated his strength. You did all you could, and you have not failed me."

Cassandra's eyes filled with the depth of her soul and I watched for a long moment as she struggled to believe me. Once again, now as years ago, my words did little to assuage the guilt that lay over the warrior like a mantle. However, unlike years ago, I understood that it took more than mere words to persuade the staunch heart of a warrior. To protect was their sworn oath and solemn duty. Nothing but time, with no recriminations hurled by me against Cassandra, would prove that I had spoken the truth to her.

"Be that as it may," Cassandra lowered her voice, "I should have at least considered that those whose actions we hindered might retaliate against us."

I shrugged my shoulders and winced at the spike of pain from the movement, hoping that Cassandra did not notice and begin once more the incessant hovering. "That is always a possibility." I acknowledged. "I simply did not expect a man with a broken wrist to chance attacking us once again, especially without the support of his friends."

"Indeed." Cassandra agreed, seeming to sink into herself, contemplating my words, aligning the events of yesternight in her strategic mind. "I wonder if there might have been an apostate among his comrades. He used his arm as if it was undamaged, and I have not seen that capability in anyone, save those healed by magic."

"The theory is sound, and has considerable merit." I mused. "There would be many benefits in Ostwick to a rogue mage. Taking under consideration that the ruling family in this city perceives even healing magic to be against the Maker, an apostate, willing to take the risk, could make quite a bit of gold by rendering simple healing services."

Cassandra's upper lip curled in a sneer of disgust. "There are many dangers inherent in the use of magic, but those who would deny healing to their citizens…it is despotism cloaked beneath the veneer of righteousness."

I nodded my agreement and the world continued rising and falling even after I stopped. However, I made no mention of it. If dizziness had come already, then Cassandra was right to be concerned, though there was nothing that she could do. Infection had already sunk its claws into me, and there would be no remedy but for my body to struggle against it. Magic could not pull venom or poison from the blood, nor could it eradicate illness. Even a skilled physician like my lover could do little else but alleviate the discomfort and attempt to keep the patient strong enough to survive nature taking its course.

 _Cassandra knows all of this already,_ I thought, reaching for the cup of water on the table, hoping that the Seeker would not notice the faint tremoring of my hands. _What she does_ _ **not**_ _know is that the fortnight I spent lying on a filthy dungeon floor with open wounds, barely able to fend off the rats and_ _ **unable**_ _to fend off the fleas and cockroaches, permanently wrecked my body's ability to fight illness. She does not know how very susceptible I am to infection, and that soon, like as not, my fever will soar to a dangerous temperature and I will be dead to the waking world, lost in delirium. Maker, I pray this does not come to that. Please, do not let it come to that._

"Many despots use righteousness as their cloak for heinous actions." I murmured my agreement. "True righteousness is…beautiful to behold." I remembered my wife standing strong, though weak from torture and abuse, scrutinized by her countrymen, decrying all of them, risking her rank and station in defense of the elves.

Cassandra relaxed in her seat, adopting a look that portrayed the careful thought she gave to my words. "What does true righteousness appear to you as, Leliana?" she asked. "I would know your definition, for you have seen so very much of the dark places in this world, and in the hearts of men."

Once before, I might have heard in those words an insult, but now I saw nothing but honest inquiry. "True righteousness is selfless." I gave her my answer. "It is the blood of sacrifice and the purity of passion…not a passion _of_ self but a passion _from_ self to do true good in the world. True righteousness is not seen, not heard, but felt like white fire in the core of one's very bones."

Cassandra smiled and I felt I had done something right, but she said nothing further, instead looking at the door of the tavern and pursing her lips in frustration.

"Where are they?" she asked a question that needed no answer, and I grinned as I realized that patience was not one of her virtues.

"In good time." I spoke, wincing as another jolt of pain roiled through my belly. "Until they arrive, we can alleviate the wait with a story."

"I am in no mood for the tales of a bard." Cassandra muttered. "Especially not a bard who is in dire need of keeping what little strength she possesses."

"Fair." I nodded, and the world spun once again. "But I was hoping you might indulge my request for a story from you…of a personal nature."

"Oh?" Cassandra shifted her full attention to me.

"Yes." I took as deep a breath as I could manage, and continued. "If you would not mind, please tell me of your reunion with the mage, Galyan."

The Seeker's body stiffened. "Why does this interest you?" she asked.

"Because we are meant to work together, as one." I replied, knowing that Cassandra would respect and honor nothing but brutal honesty. "Last night you saw me naked, bleeding, and vulnerable. You witnessed my scars. I would know of your vulnerabilities as well…for if we do not know the other's weaknesses, how are we to protect them?"

The warm whiskey eyes, which had frosted with my inquiry, grew heated once more. "You would…protect me?" she whispered. "You see that as…as one of your responsibilities?"

"I do." I spoke, hoping my words would cause her neither shame nor anger. "If two are to be as one, then each must take equal share of every burden."

"And you came by this belief…" her question trailed off, as she realized my answer before I spoke it.

"I was married, once." I offered her a tremulous smile.

"I concede to your logic." she returned a breathy laugh and shook her head. "I did not wish to see him again, you understand. I was ashamed…ashamed that I had allowed Beatrix to deceive me; that I had believed she would give me the full measure of the truth. I was ashamed that I did not seek him out, to prove the veracity of Beatrix's tale. It was Justinia who convinced me at last…"


	45. Chapter 45

**Cassandra**

 _"My child, the longer your stare in that direction, the deeper the knife will slip into your heart, piercing it from there into your very soul. You are aware of this, are you not?"_

 _I turn in surprise at the words, lowering myself to one knee before the most powerful woman in Thedas. "Most Holy, forgive me. I did not hear you approach."_

 _Justinia shakes her head with a soft smile that I have come to know is an expression of motherly indulgence and…and pride. My mother had never shown that she had pride in me, too concerned with coming to power in Nevarra. To know that Justinia feels as a mother to me is...humbling beyond measure, and it makes a part of me whole that I never before realized was broken._

 _"Dispense with the formalities, Cassandra." Most Holy orders. "We are not in the Hall of Justice. It is you and me here."_

 _"How did you know where I would be?" I ask, intrigued to know how Most Holy is always able to locate me and speak to my heart._

 _"Because I know that you heard the news, and I know that you would be standing here in this place, gazing at what you have lost and punishing yourself for losing it. Lay your whip aside, Cassandra. Self-flagellation gives the Maker no joy, and does nothing but scar your soul and spirit." Justinia's words are kind, but they pierce like a well-sharpened arrow._

 _I turn my face from her too kind, too knowing, watery blue eyes, and look out from the Divine's tower to the gleaming walls of the White Spire. First Enchanter Vivienne has arranged a meeting with the First Enchanters of every Circle, and I have seen the list of those who would be attending. Upon that list was a name that sent my heart back into the past, to the first time it opened after Anthony's death._

 _ **Regalyan D'Marcall…First Enchanter of the Treviso Circle.**_

 _I want to see him again. I want to forget that he ever existed, that we ever shared kisses…that we ever lay naked body to naked body, exploring each other on all planes of consciousness and existence. I want to forget the way he caressed me, and the fire in his grey eyes when I reached pleasure's peak beneath his touch. I also want to remember every blessed moment of learning to love._

 _"What would you have me do, Most Holy?" I ask a question of the woman I know to be wise, and kind, and free from deception._

 _I need her guidance. I need the truth._

 _"My dear child," her tone is soft, gentle, "it is not for me to have you do anything. It is the call of your heart to which you should listen. However, if you should choose to heed my words, I would say this. You are a woman of passion, Cassandra, and women of passion, who leave in their hearts questions forever unanswered and paths forever untaken, oft end their lives as women of bitterness. I once asked a woman if I had sinned, even though evidence of my transgression lay under the same roof. I asked if I would know forgiveness, and she gave me the truth that I did not wish to hear, but needed to know. Had it not been for that moment, that question, I might be a woman of bitterness, eking out the rest of my life forever unfulfilled and forever laden with the burden of unanswered sin. You have not sinned my child. You and the mage have both been sinned against, but it is only when you stand face to face and share words with him once more that you will be capable of moving past the injury done your soul."_

 _Her words cut me to the quick, but it is a necessary wound, and one that I shall attempt to bear with grace. I say nothing more, responding with a simple nod and leaving the Divine's hall for the White Spire. Memories flood me as I walk the cobblestone streets of Val Royeaux, a city that, like many of its citizens, wears a mask. She purported herself to be beautiful, without flaws, gracious to anyone who entered…but this city is a vampire. A ghoul. It feasts on those who come here seeking success, refuge, or place in this world, and leaves their souls barren and full of despair. Val Royeaux is indeed the crown jewel…and every true jewel has a flaw at its center._

 _I remember seeing these streets run red with blood when the maleficar attacked with their dragons. I remember the smoke and the fire and the swords in my hands…and the mage who stood beside me. The man who proved to me what the Chant of Light meant when it said that magic was meant to serve man. It did not mean that magic should be enslaved, locked away, but that it should be used for the betterment of mankind. It should be used to heal. Galyan is a healer. He would understand my thoughts, but his mind is no longer mine to explore. It is no longer mine to cherish._

 _The templars guarding the gates of the White Spire let me pass through without inquiry, answering my question when I ask where I might find Galyan. They direct me to the courtyard garden and my heart begins to flutter in my chest. My spirit burns and my eyes are wet. I do not know why I wish to weep. I am not sorrowful. I am not grieving. I am afraid. I am so very, very afraid._

 _ **What if he despises me for never meeting him outside the tower on the day Beatrix trapped me in her lie? What if he still holds a grudge against me for never answering the letters he sent…the letters that I never received? What if he does not even recognize my face?**_

 _I approach the garden and I find him leaning against a tree, watching something or someone that I cannot see. He looks up and his eyes catch mine. I freeze in place, suddenly unable to move forward. My lips work back and forth, attempting to produce words, but I can find nothing to say. My hands are clenched fists, my legs are wooden logs, my chest is heavy and my heart is a tiny, trapped bird beating against a cage._

 _He is moving toward me now, and I see that he has changed. Gone is the face of the young man with the insouciant sense of humor and the ready smile. The eyes are still the same, still that lovely shade of stone grey, a cloudy sky in which I once lost myself for hours. His hair has been cut short, and I can see many threads of white hair at his temples. His eyes have crowsfeet now, and his shoulders have lost some of their breadth. However, his stride is still the same, full of intent and purpose, confident but never arrogant._

 _Five paces away from me, he stops, as if suddenly unsure of what he is doing. I still lack the power of speech, for I am remembering the days when he would walk to me in this very courtyard, and I would fling myself into his arms. He would embrace me, laugh, press a kiss to my cheek, and we would forget that time existed. Now we stand here, a different man and a different woman, both of us at a loss._

 _"Cassandra?" he breaks the silence at last. "Cassandra, is it you? In truth?"_

 _His words, his speech, that lovely voice remembered, awaken me, and I cross the distance between us and embrace him. His arms wrap around me in the familiar hold. He still smells of sandalwood, leather, and elfroot, all wrapped together in the unique perfume that is **Galyan**. It feels right to hold him in my arms once more, even though, in this embrace, I can feel the time and lies between us, keeping our skin from truly touching. Keeping us locked in a current, separate lives. _

_"Galyan." I breathe, hoping that it will make those years between us fall away, but it does not. It simply re-establishes for me the fact that they exist._

 _He pulls away from the embrace, taking a step backward and running his hand through his hair, an old trait that I recognize as him attempting to find a thought, to solve a dilemma. I feel that I know what he is going to speak of, words that I know he will say, and that I have already forgiven him for._

 _"I did not think you would come." he says. "Though why you have, I cannot fathom."_

 _I lower my head in shame, for I deserve the sorrow that paints his words. I deserve the soft recrimination. I deserve the pain of believing the lie of another over the truth of my own heart._

 _"I have come to ask your forgiveness." I reply, though I do not know where those words have come from. However, they seem to be the proper thing to say._

 _"Whatever for?" he inquires, though I can tell he is angry with me. As he should be. "Leaving me waiting at the gates for the entire day? Not saying farewell when they shuffled me off to Treviso? Or for ignoring the letters I sent?"_

 _"All of that." I whisper, for his anger hurts me, even though it is not misplaced. "But moreso for believing the lie that I was told about you. For believing it and for not seeking the truth as I was called to do."_

 _"What?" Galyan's eyebrows raise, his quizzical expression erasing the years from his face. "What are you talking about, Cassandra?"_

 _"On the day that…that I was meant to meet you here, Beatrix summoned me." I explain, my words feeling like glass scraped across my throat. "She told me that…she told me that you had attempted to escape the Circle with your lover and that…that when caught, you turned to blood magic and became an abomination."_

 _Galyan's eyes fill with hurt and his jaw tightens with wrath. "You believed her?" his words are clipped. "You did not even seek evidence you simply…you simply believed? The woman who defied the leader of her order to discover the truth just…just_ _ **believed?**_ _"_

 _"I did not think Beatrix would lie to me." I say, though I know it sounds more and more as though I am making excuses. "However, you are right to be furious with me, Galyan. I should have trusted you. I should have trusted my own heart and my own belief. I am at fault for what happened…lies or not."_

 _"Cassandra..." Galyan turns his face away, running his hand through his hair once more, "…Maker's blood. I want to be angry with you. I want to be furious. But I cannot summon the emotion to me. I am but filled with sorrow. For a year, I waited. I wrote. I begged and prayed. I attempted, with every contact I had, with every favor that I could call, to return to the White Spire. I was a man desperate, broken, and angry. Angry that I had ever thought to love a Seeker, a woman belonging to an order that believes in the chaining of mages. I was bitter. I hated you."_

 _It is with the greatest shame that I confess. "I hated you too. For leaving me. On that day we were meant to meet, Galyan, I was going to give you my heart. I was going to give you back the words you had said to me so many times." I sigh and my throat constricts and my gut churns. "I was going to tell you that I loved you."_

 _His eyes grow as distant as mine are, staring into our past, then looking to the future that we might have had. But a corrupt woman and my gullibility and belief in her had ended the hope of that future. I wait for Galyan to respond._

 _"Papa! Papa!" I hear a cry from the garden and look up as Galyan turns, watching a young boy run towards the mage and my once lover._

 _ **Papa? This child is…is Galyan his father? Of course,**_ _inside my mind, I struck myself for my idiocy,_ _ **he would have moved beyond us. His heart is one that needs love, and he would have healed and found another…another who bore him a child.**_

 _"What is it, David?" Galyan asks, kneeling down beside the boy, who can be no older than five years._

 _"Papa, it's broken." David holds his cupped hands out to his father and in them I see a butterfly._

 _Its left wing has been torn, but it still flexes them as if trying to fly from the boy's hands. David looks so like his father that it makes my chest tighten and my heart curl into a shrieking knot. I am staring at the life that I might have had, a father and a son…and somewhere, a mother. A mother that I might have been to a beautiful boy with Galyan's grey eyes and, I assume, his mother's auburn hair._

 _Galyan smiles and rests his hand on his son's shoulder. "What do we do with broken things, David?" he asks, kind._

 _"We fix them." David nods, emphatic._

 _"Someday, David, I will teach you how to do this." Galyan smiles and places both of his hands over his son's, cocooning the butterfly between them._

 _I watch as healing blue light emanates from Galyan's hands, and my body throbs. I remember limping through the forest, drenched, seeking shelter. I remember blood sheeting down my thigh, the weakness in my body, the exhaustion that nothing could cure. I recall the heat of Galyan's healing magic pouring into my wound, mending the torn flesh so that I could eat and sleep and regain all the strength I had lost._

 _The moment ends, Galyan moves his hands away, and there rests a butterfly with fully healed wings. It flutters away from David's hands and the boy laughs and chases after it, yelling a thank you to his father as he continues in play._

 _"You…have a son?" I ask, knowing the question is idiotic._

 _"I do." Galyan replies. "The blighted Chantry took him when he was born. Away from his mother's arms, away from me. We were fortunate that, when they found David had magic, they gave him back to us."_

 _"Us." I nod, sorrowful for myself, but happy for Galyan. I might never have been able to give him a family, and he is meant to be a father, a teacher…he is meant to be all of the things that he could never have been, had we loved one another._

 _"Mages cannot marry, as you know." Galyan's tones have become cool, and I know that they will not heat again. "But Clara and I are committed to one another."_

 _"Are you…are you happy in Treviso, Galyan?"_

 _He nods, watching his son run across the courtyard, smiling as the boy starts climbing one of the trees. "I am." he replies. "I made my peace with us, Cassandra." he tells me. "But I am glad…I am glad that you did not abandon me as I thought you did. I am glad that you came to speak with me here, and I am sorry that you were given a lie. We might have had a life together."_

 _"Now we have no place in each other's lives." I finish his statement and he nods. There is grief in the set of his shoulders, regret in the crease of his brow. It is proof that my words are true._

 _"Maker go with you, Cassandra." Galyan takes the lead as he always has, smoothing the way for me as he did so many years ago. "And know that, in my heart, you will always dwell."_

 _"Likewise." I murmur, wanting to say more, wanting to reach out, but it is over now. It is over, permanently._

 _Galyan turns his back and walks towards the tree where his son is scaling the branches. He begins to climb as well, making his way towards his new life. A life that includes nothing but the memory of me, and a litany of "what-might-have-beens". I will not begrudge him his joy, his lover, his son, his…his family. However, I realize that Justinia had given me the truth. All has been settled, and my soul is unburdened._

 _In spite of that, it is with great pain that I walk away. Pain because I saw the child that I might have carried in my womb. Pain because I saw hurt in the eyes of the man I loved. Hurt that I placed there because I believed a lie. This is a wound I will not soon forget, a scar like the one across my thigh…a mark that will never fade. A magnificent, unfulfilled life. A blissful, unrealized love. And now, a woman determined to follow the mandates of her heart above all else._

 _To love with the purity I witnessed in Leliana's heart, the ferocity that I saw in Salem Cousland's eyes, with the compassion that I felt in Kathyra's touch, and with the wisdom I heard in Justinia's words. I will forgive myself. I will learn. I will love again._


	46. Chapter 46

**Leliana**

Cassandra carried her pain with a harsh, austere grace. I could see it in her shoulders. I could see it in her eyes. I could see it in the hands that rested on top of the table, palm up, empty of everything but the weapons she placed inside them to fight for a light that she stood outside of. To fight for a world that loved and held and cherished while she did not. For she had lost the opportunity, lost it to the lie of a more powerful woman. Oh, I knew her anguish. I knew her agony. I knew her pain. All too well I knew her pain.

 _You knew it as well, did you not, Justinia?_ I smiled inside my mind at the thought of the woman who had saved my life and given me my freedom; the woman who sent me to Ferelden for my safety and set the life I led from thence in motion. _You knew that Cassandra and I were more alike than either of us might have imagined or believed. Yet, for all the suffering that my life has known, I find that I have been more fortunate than she. I have been more fortunate, for when I returned from distance and time, I found the arms of my beloved waiting, opened for me alone._

"I am sorry, Cassandra." I whispered to her, focusing on the conversation for, if I did not, the burgeoning pain in my body would be all I could focus on. "I am sorry that he could not even find it in his heart to mend his friendship with you."

"There are days that I wish he would have." Cassandra whispered, the tears she would not shed dwelling within her voice. "But, on the majority of days, I believe that we were right to part ways. I do not know if I could have been his friend, Leliana. I do not know if I could have stood outside of his love for Clara and for their son. I might have allowed the past to rule me, and might have hurt the three of them when they did not deserve to be hurt. It is better this way."

"It takes great strength to say such a thing." I breathed, reaching out and resting my hand on top of her wrist, allowing her to feel the skin and touch of another, to know that her hands, while they might have been empty in love, were not empty in friendship. "A weaker woman would have not taken that moment with such grace."

"To show grace in a graceless world." Cassandra shook her head. "It is a burden that no one should have to carry."

"I agree with you."

Silence fell between us as I remembered another woman who exemplified grace in a graceless world. The woman who forgave her childhood friend for loving a despotic, power-hungry, mad-man and tyrant. The woman who showed mercy to an assassin sent to kill her, who befriended him and made him her brother. The woman who had looked at the broken thing that was my body and heart and still reached out her hands, cradling it close and not even trembling at the fangs that dug into her flesh and the poison that seeped into her veins. Life had not been kind to my Salem. Life had not been kind to Cassandra.

 _When both lived, they were so very different,_ I smiled at the whims of fate and chance and the choices that hearts could make and the paths they could chance to walk down. _Now I find between them more similarities than would ever be believed._

Cassandra removed her hands from the table and straightened her shoulders. We were finished talking about the past; I could see it in her eyes and in the language of her body.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, concern etching itself into the lines around her eyes.

"Weak, cold...in pain." I smiled in attempt to soften the bluntness of my words, but I would do no disservice to myself or to Cassandra by lying.

She reached across the table and pressed the back of her fingers to my forehead. Her skin felt so cool against my own that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering in relief. Cassandra frowned, then winced as it pulled the stitches on her cheek.

"You are too warm." she muttered. "I feel tense, as though we are working with time that we do not possess."

"I understand." I nodded, not wishing to discuss my condition any further.

I could already feel the infection spreading through my body; the heat flooding through my veins. Fever-sweat dotted my brow and my upper lip, every breath took effort and reminded my body of the blade sliding through my skin. Every now and again, in my peripheral vision, the world swirled and turned. Were I to stand at this moment, I did not think I would be able to keep my feet for long.

The door of the tavern opened and a man entered. He had the strong back and broad shoulders of a man accustomed to wielding a broadsword. His eyes darted furtively around the tavern, seeking out the shadows with an immediacy that belied his utter inexperience with subterfuge. He took a cautious step further into the tavern.

"Cassandra, our informant has arrived." I would have stood and gone to summon him myself, but pain prevented me from doing so.

The waves of agony were growing stronger by the moment, rippling through me, leaving me temporarily paralyzed. I would have given anything to curl into a ball of pain on the floor and hope that it would take me under the black. I felt exhausted and drained of all energy, barely awake.

Cassandra got to her feet and the man noticed her, ducking his head and walking towards our table. I wanted to reach out and slap him for his obvious idiocy. If he did not wish to be noticed, he was going about it in all the wrong ways. And, if he were being followed, he had given away our position. Were we to be attacked again…I could not fight. I could barely retain my seat in my chair.

 _Maker, please, let this not lead to another violent confrontation. Please, let this soon be done so that I might find respite from this pain. Please._

"You are Cassandra Pentaghast?" the man asked, his accent rich and colorful, an accent I had heard from the lips of a certain Rivaini pirate captain. The man himself had the same bronze skin tone indicative of the people of Rivain.

However, he did not look like a man who lived and worked out under the blistering sun of his native land. His skin was smooth, undamaged by the sun. There lay an age in his eyes that his skin did not convey. In fact, his complexion very much resembled the dwarves of Orzammar, who could be punished under law and stripped of their caste if they even so much as set eyes upon the sky.

"I am." Cassandra replied. "And this is my counterpart, Leliana Cousland."

The man nodded in greeting, and, through gritted teeth, I returned the gesture. "I will be brief." he informed us, and I whispered a silent prayer of thanks. "My name is Brayden, a Grey Warden from Rivain."

 _A warden?_ The wheels in my mind began to turn, wondering why a Grey Warden might have summoned the right and left hands of the Divine. _What could possibly be happening?_

"Well met, warden." Cassandra spoke. "What is it that you wish to tell us?"

"I know that this is unprecedented," Brayden prefaced, "As wardens do not often meddle in Chantry business, but this is something that concerns us all, and I've no wish to waste time having my message whispered through all the layers of the damned Chantry bureaucracy so that it's bloody worthless when it reaches those who can and _will_ do something about it. It's good to see you were willing to come here on nothing more than my word. It gives me hope."

 _Hope…_ my thoughts wandered, the pain of my body dogging their heels, gnawing at them… _something that is all too rare for those who bear the taint within their blood. Hope is a thing so very vital to them, for they are forced to give up everything else that they might possess._

"But I am not here to pay compliments." Brayden pressed forward. "A fortnight ago, my squad and I were in the Deep Roads. We're one of three squads who patrol the Free Marches, attempting to keep the darkspawn nuisance down. By our map's approximation, we were halfway between Kirkwall and Ostwick, so we made camp. After supper, I took first watch."

A barmaid walked by the table and held out a pint of ale. Cassandra took it and offered it to Brayden, who quaffed the entire glass in one swallow and set it down. Flecks of foam dripped from the bristles of his moustache as he continued.

"I noticed a light further into the tunnels. Darkspawn don't carry torches or know how to make fire, and Orzammar keeps her Legion of the Dead close to their thaig when they can. I moved closer, staying in the shadows. When I rounded the corner I saw four people, three women, one man. They were sitting around a fire, but the fire was hovering just above the floor. They were poring over a map, talking quietly because they feared they might attract darkspawn."

 _A fire without fuel? That could be nothing but the work of a mage. But what would a group of mages be doing in the Deep Roads? It is almost suicide for even a skilled warrior to venture there._

"Go on." Cassandra urged.

"I listened into their conversation, for their quiet words were not quiet enough. They were escaped mages from the Kirkwall Circle. They spoke of one of my order, a Grey Warden mage, who had given them maps of the Deep Roads and smuggled them out of the city. The one who freed them apparently said that fleeing through the Deep Roads would ensure their survival. Phylacteries or no, the templars wouldn't track them through the bowels of the earth."

 _Anders!_ My thoughts must have been stamped on my face, for Cassandra turned her piercing gaze to mine, as if she could translate the goings on behind my eyes.

"I've nothing against mages." Brayden pushed his chair away from the table; he had spoken true when he told us it would be brief. "There are two in my squad, and me and the others would be many times dead were it not for them. However, mages can turn into demons, and with the darkspawn in the Deep Roads attacking everything that moves…let me just say that what few wardens there are cannot deal with darkspawn _and_ abominations skittering about beneath the earth. I trust you will manage this."

"At once, Warden Brayden." Cassandra rose and clasped his forearm with her hand. He returned the gesture. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention. Maker go with you."

"And with you." the Rivaini warden walked away, left the tavern, and Cassandra's eyes turned to mine, gleaming and filled with worry.

"This does not bode well." she said. My vision blurred as a rippling wave of agony peeled outward from the punctures in my body. "But you have lived in Kirkwall. Have you any idea who the mage Grey Warden is?"

"I do." I breathed, hoping that Cassandra would not hear the anguish in my voice. "I know him all too well, but…but...oh!"

My words ended in a gasp of pain and I doubled over, pressing my hand against my stomach, the epicenter of the raging, heated spike of pain spreading through my abdomen and up into my lungs, gnawing along my ribs. I rested my forehead against the edge of the table and grabbed the table with my free hand to keep from falling out of my chair.

"Damn it." Cassandra cursed, knocking her chair backwards as she flew out of it and towards me. "Leliana," she pulled my attention to her, "Leliana, what is it? What is wrong?"

Sweat ran down my face and dripped off of my nose. I felt myself shivering, but did not know if it was from cold or from pain. I felt as though I stood outside in a blizzard, as though all the heat had fled from my body, leaving me cold and unable to move.

"The pain is…so much…worse than before." I panted, struggling to get control of myself. "I…apologize for…this…oh, _Maker_."

There were tears in my eyes that I could not control and they spilled down my cheeks in conveyance of my agony. My jaw clenched and unclenched in rapid, staccato grittings of my teeth. My lips were trembling and shudders racked my body.

"Stay still." Cassandra rested her hand on my back. "We can speak of Warden Brayden's revelations later, when you are well. Remain here. I will go the room and gather our things, then we can get back to the ship and return to Kirkwall, to Kathyra."

I pushed myself up, away from the table, as the pain began to ebb away from the ferocious onslaught. "I…I am fine." I lied. "Perhaps, sitting up…for so long…aggravated the…wound. If I…" I bit back a groan as another wave of suffering crested, "…lie down…I should…be all right."

"You will, on the ship." Cassandra insisted. "Do not move from this chair until I come back. I shall be expedient, I promise you."

I felt her presence depart and heard her boots striking the floor as she rushed up the stairs to our room. I did not want to be here. I did not desire to feel like this, to be useless as pain staked its claim on my body. I wanted to sit down with Cassandra and discuss the mages escaping through the Deep Roads, wondering if other Circles were utilizing the same route. Instead, all I could do was sit, shake, and wait for Cassandra to return and _pray_ that I remained strong enough to make it back to the ship…back to Kirkwall.

 _Maker, help me now,_ my breathing eased as the pain ebbed once again. _Give me strength, please, give me strength._


	47. Chapter 47

**Cassandra**

There had, once, been a time in my life when I did not know what it was to worry; when I considered that emotion unnecessary, beneath me, childish, and pointless. I made certain that there was no place for it in my life, until it simply did not exist for me. I knew now that it was no longer the truth…because I was worried. Worried about rogue mages escaping into the Deep Roads, risking their lives, committing near suicide, in order to be free of the Circle. I felt quite certain that such a thing, such a fate, a life so horrific that acts of desperation were worth taking, was not what the Maker and Andraste had intended for those born with magic.

However, even that was not the sole focus of my worry. I moved through the room like a madwoman, packing our belongings with frantic hands and frenetic thoughts. I feared leaving Leliana alone for even a few moments. When I had touched her skin, it nearly burned me. Her temperature was much too high; I could see nothing but pain in her eyes. Leliana needed a competent healer, and we had already discovered that such a thing could _not_ be found or had in Ostwick.

I wished that we had brought our horses from the ship, instead of walking through the city. I did not know if Leliana could make the walk back to the docks, and I did not know if I, burdened by both of our weapons and packs, could carry her. However, time spent working out the strategy of getting to our destination was time we could not waste.

 _I should have remained here alone and sent Leliana back to the ship when we were told that no mages were allowed to leave the Circle, even for healing. Leliana would be on the way to Kirkwall…I am certain that Warden Brayden would have understood her absence and given me his information regardless. Why did I allow Leliana to remain here? Her condition is my fault, my responsibility, and I feel as though I am failing her at every turn._

I strapped Leliana's bow to my back and ran down the stairs and into the tavern proper, startling the proprietor. I pressed three gold sovereigns into his hand, more than enough coin to cover the damage we had caused and the resources we had used. He stared at me in shock, holding out his hand in attempt to return the gold. I shook my head and returned to the table where I had left Leliana.

She was sitting up now, gripping the table with white-knuckled hands, but it heartened me to see her still conscious. I did not, however, know how long she would remain so, and did not wish to tempt fate by ill-spending my time. She looked terrible…I had witnessed soldiers in Chantry infirmary who, even after losing an appendage, appeared more hale and hearty than my counterpart.

 _She is so very pale…were she to lie down and sleep, I would believe her to be dead._

"Leliana." I spoke her name and rested my hand on her shoulder, drawing her distant eyes to mine. "Leliana, do you think you can make the walk back to the ship?"

"Do I…do I have a choice?" she whispered the question with a high, thin voice filled with exhaustion and hurt.

"I can attempt to find transport for us." I offered, even though I knew that such a search might take more time than we possessed…than _she_ possessed. Every moment was precious and could not be wasted. "But it is the height of the working day, and…"

"I will manage." Leliana cut short my words, the undercurrent of resolve in her weak voice striking my heart, my soldier's heart, and filling it with respect for her. "If you will be so kind as to lend me a steadying hand, I will manage."

For some reason I could not fathom, her words placed fear in my very soul. Something in them…the request for a "steadying hand" filled me with misgivings. There were so many things that might have gone wrong with the worst of her injuries. The possibility of internal bleeding. The chance that a nerve might have been severed and affected her legs adversely. So much might still go wrong.

I knelt down in front of Leliana, looking into bleary eyes the color of the ocean, as blue and deep and powerful as the waves. She attempted to return my gaze, but her eyes could not seem to focus. The cold claws of worry sank deeper into my chest with every passing breath.

"Leliana, are your legs all right? Is something wrong with your vision?" I asked, terrified that she might answer me with an affirmation of my fears.

"My legs are…fine." she murmured, securing her grip on the table, visibly gathering the strength and resolve to stand. "My vision is blurry and I am…very dizzy. The room refuses…to stop spinning. It is making me nauseated."

"Are you going to be sick?" I asked, looking around the tavern for a bucket, a spittoon, anything that might suit her needs.

"Not…right now." she smiled, but her symptoms and her pallor disturbed me.

 _She lost a great deal of blood yesternight,_ I reminded myself, struggling to comfort my own mind with my limited knowledge. _And she has been sitting up for the better part of three candlemarks. It is no wonder she is lightheaded, dizzy, and feeling ill. Why did I allow her to come down from the room with me? I should have forced her to lie down until midday arrived._

"I will help you." I whispered, humbled by her strength.

Were I so injured, so worn, so weak, I did not think I would have the courage to stand, let alone attempt to walk any distance. Leliana, however, used the table to lever herself to her feet. She gasped, her eyes went wide, her lips parted, and what little color had been in her face drained away, leaving her even more pale than she had been before. She kept her eyes fixed forward, kept one hand on the table, and extended her right hand out to me.

I offered her my arm and her fingers wrapped around my wrist. I felt the cool clamminess of her skin and, again, began the battle with worry. Leliana leaned on me and I steadied her, praying for strength for the both of us, because she did not look strong enough to even stand. I could not fathom the ability to fight through that much pain. However, I did know tales of the dungeons of Val Royeaux. Leliana had survived _that_. There were few who could claim that manner of strength; that power of will; that level of perseverance.

"I am ready." Leliana whispered, her voice shaking.

I adjusted the packs and weapons that I carried, then took my first tentative steps. Leliana followed me, taking the majority of her own weight, using me only as support when her balance wavered. I steered us towards the docks, keeping a careful watch over my counterpart. Even though the sun had retreated behind a heavy layer of clouds, in spite of the fact that the day was fair and the wind cool, sweat poured down Leliana's face. Her hair was soaked through, clinging to her skin, the collar of her shirt was drenched, and ever so often she would pinch her eyes shut when the salt of her sweat stung them.

Every now and again her breath would catch and I would pause, allowing her to catch her breath. Under the weight of our combined packs, weapons, and the gradually increasing weight of Leliana, I, too, had begun to sweat. My throat felt tight, but I could not reach for my canteen, for fear that if I let go of Leliana's hand, she would fall to the ground and be unable to move.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached the docks. They brimmed with life, workers moving to and fro, unloading ships and distributing the cargo, packing new shipments and carrying heavy burdens up the gangplanks. We were close, so very close.

 _Keep strong, Leliana,_ I urged her in my thoughts. _Soon, you can close your eyes and sleep. We will reach Kirkwall, and Kathyra. She will know what to do._

"Cass…" Leliana's voice snapped over my name, hard and strained. "Cass…I am…I'm going to be sick."

I had been so focused on looking at the ship that I did not notice that the hand gripping my arm shook almost uncontrollably. Her skin gleamed with sweat and her face held a distinct, greenish hue. Even her lips were bloodless. We stood near an alley; Leliana relinquished her grip on my hand, staggering towards it. She crumpled to her knees and I ran to her, my heart breaking when I saw her body buck and spasm as she retched, bringing up water and the broth she had managed to eat earlier in the day.

I knelt down and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, supporting her as she shuddered, reduced to violent dry heaves that bowed her spine and clenched her gut in a way that I knew was agonizing in its own right…so much moreso with a hole in her belly. My lips trembled as I watched Leliana struggle with the agony shredding through her muscles, bones, and veins. Her eyes were wild and frantic and I could see her struggling even to lift her arm to wipe her mouth.

With hurried movements, I pulled my canteen from my belt and offered it to Leliana. She nodded and I helped her drink. She swirled the water around in her mouth and spat it out, thanking me with a small nod, a look of shame passing over her countenance as I wiped her lips with my sleeve. I extended my canteen again.

"You need to drink." I whispered. "It will be far worse if you become dehydrated."

"I won't…" she gasped, "…be able…to keep it…down."

Once again, I knew the frigidity of worry. I built a wall against it, refusing to let it conquer me.

"We are close to the ship." I encouraged her. "You can rest soon, I promise."

Another weak nod and I got to my feet, extending my hand to her. She reached up and grasped it, but her fingers held no strength. I clutched her forearm, giving her as much support as I could offer while she struggled to rise from her knees. She managed to get one of her feet under her and made to stand…but crashed back down with a ragged sob. Her arm left mine and both of hers wrapped around her abdomen, protecting the wound.

I dropped to my knees again, taking her chin in my hand and lifting her eyes to mine. "Leliana?" I asked, unable now to control the panic in my voice.

"Something…inside me…tore." Leliana's features held nothing but pain, her eyes were _screaming_. "I can't…if I move…it will…it will make it…worse." she held herself even tighter and struggled to focus on me. "The city is…all upside down…spinning…Cass…please…oh _Maker_!" with a ragged cry she pitched forward, her head pressing into my shoulder as she went limp in my arms.

I gathered her to me, knowing that I could not lift her while carrying our supplies. But everything that we had for healing and treatment lay in our satchels, and to leave them unattended…they would be stolen. The ship was close…not close enough to shout for help and be heard over the din of the docks. I hugged Leliana close to me, trying to shut out her moans of anguish, so that I could _think_. But thought would get me nowhere, and the people of the city walked past us, averting their eyes, avoiding the situation. We would find no help from man. I looked to the ship, then to the heavens.

 _Maker. Grant us a miracle. Please._


	48. Chapter 48

**Salem**

I watched her fall and my heart ceased to beat. Even though she was obscured the chaotic throng of sailors, shipwrights, and dockworkers, all I could see was Leliana. Her red hair screamed at me like a bright banner on the field of battle. This was my fault. My fault for defying the one who had brought me back, for refusing to fulfill my purpose. Flemeth knew that this would break me. Or rather, she believed that she knew.

 _I will not lose. Not even to an ancient god._

I pulled my mask tight around my face, tugged on my gloves, and ran down the gangplank, into the crowd. Ignoring the curses and yells of those I pushed aside, I fought and shoved my way towards Leliana, who lay curled in a tight ball of agony, wrapped in the arms of Cassandra Pentaghast. The Right Hand of the Divine glanced up and saw me, attempting to catch my eyes. I averted my gaze, for if she remembered me at all, one glance would surrender my identity. That would not happen.

 _I cannot be found out, but I also_ _ **refuse**_ _to watch Leliana suffer for a decision that I have made._

"Tell me what you need me to do." I said, knowing that my voice was so changed from disuse that Cassandra would not recognize it. I struggled most days, when I spoke, to recognize the sound of my own voice. It sounded so altered from the days when I spoke free, out of need and without inhibitions.

"Can you carry her to the ship?" Cassandra asked, nodding towards the vessel. "I cannot lift both her and our supplies, and she cannot walk."

I could hear the roaring of my heart in my ears, blood screaming through my veins. I did not care how many lives it took, how many swords, but I would _slaughter_ Flemeth for doing this to the woman I loved. She hurt the woman who had committed no crime but that of being chosen by another deity.

"Where is she hurt?" I all but choked over the question, needing to know, but terrified of the answer I would receive.

"Her abdomen and beneath her left arm." Cassandra propped Leliana up, moving aside so that I could take her in my arms.

I heard a muffled cry of pain and it shattered me. All through the Blight, I had fought and bled so that those who had chosen to cast their lot with mine might walk away from the final battle, with few scars, capable of living a life fulfilled, a life without terrible, permanent damage...a life wherein they were capable of living their lives to the fullest. I held their safety above all else, and rarely did I fail them.

 _Now, however, I have failed Leliana, and grievously so. She is paying for my supposed sins and that is_ _ **not**_ _how it is meant to be._

I reached out, cradling Leliana against my chest, hating the scent of blood that clung to her, hating the rapid, shallow breaths I could hear and feel filling her lungs. I slipped my other arm beneath the bend of her knees and prepared to lift her. There were so many memories flooding through my mind, good memories, cherished times when I had held my lover so very much like this. I longed for that manner of connection with her once more…but such a thing could never be. I had to focus on the horror of the present moment.

Cassandra Pentaghast, the woman who, when last I saw her, held a naked blade to my throat and threatened to use it against my wife, reached out and, with a gentle touch, squeezed Leliana's hand.

"The pain will be lessened soon, I swear it." Cassandra promised.

In her eyes I saw and in her voice I heard caring and compassion, two traits I would never have accorded to her. But I knew truth…and it lay threaded in Cassandra's every concerned glance, touch, and breath. Someone or something had changed the woman. She seemed gentled, softened from the firebrand of blind devotion which I once knew her to be.

Leliana's soul-stirring eyes were closed, her precious face drained of all color, her perfect lips trembling as she fought to keep from voicing her pain. Most injured, if held by one they did not know, would stiffen, tense, and resist. I wondered if some subconscious part of Leliana remembered my touch, because she nestled into my arms, drawing close to me without reservation. Her head rested against my shoulder, making me feel that some stars in the distant heavens had aligned; that life had been made _right_ somehow, though I knew it to be the furthest thing from the truth. All was not right, and I could not make it so. I would do what I could, play the part needed, and fade once more into the darkness of what Leliana believed. What she needed to continue believing.

 _I have set Salem aside in my heart…_

I stood up, lifting her in my arms, fighting tears as she curled tighter into herself and a high, breathy sob ripped out of her mouth, torn from her chest by an exquisite agony. She had continually told me, when I was alive, that she loved the feel of my scarred hands against her skin. I wished that I did not have to wear gloves. I wished that I could touch her skin, to offer her my scars…I wished that I could be to her now all that I once was. But I was dead, set aside in her heart and in her mind, and for the good of Thedas I needed to remain so.

Cassandra moved in front of me, her blade naked in her hand; her voice raised above the din of the docks. "Clear a path!" she ordered, her words cracking through the air like a whip, spurring the crowd to action.

They moved aside and I followed Cassandra towards the ship, listening to every rasp of Leliana's breath and despising myself. I wanted to pray, but the sole god who would hear me had no mercy for the woman lying in my arms. Instead, I focused on the task. To carry Leliana to safety. To avoid Cassandra's scrutiny. To weigh anchor and sail towards Kirkwall, where I knew a skilled physician resided...the physician who loved the woman who owned my heart. The physician I had forgiven, even though I grieved.

But even those thoughts, those plans, could not distract me from the hell of my own mind and memories. The heat radiating from Leliana's body terrified me, flinging me backwards in time.

* * *

 _"Salem." Alistair runs up to me, his breathing heavy, his lips chapped and scabbed. "Salem, we_ _ **need**_ _to call a halt. Please."_

 _My brow creases, for I know there is truth in his words. We have pushed ourselves hard, almost without rest, through the Deep Roads. We have gazed at the archdemon, witnessed the masses of the darkspawn horde, uncovered the horrifying truth of the broodmothers, and fought a paragon driven mad in the darkness by a lust and thirst for power._

 _In that battle with Branka and the golems she controlled, even with the help of Caridin, all of us took injuries. Alistair and I had borne the worst of the damage, and Wynne had expended her magic to save us. Too late, we realized that, even lost in her madness, Branka had not lost her strategist's mind. One of her golems had destroyed our supplies. Wynne and Morrigan's lyrium, their vials of healing herbs, astringent cleansers, and remedies for pain…all lost. Our food stores, as well, had been cast down into the lava below._

 _We are dragging ourselves back to Orzammar, subsisting on the emergency rations that I made each one of us carry in our belt pouches. Now, however even those are gone. Several of us still have open wounds; most of our spare clothing has been torn for bandaging. I do not know of the others, but I gave my water stores to Wynne, and had drunk nothing in the last half day, by my reckoning. There were others who had greater need._

 _ **We are all to the point of exhausted collapse, but we need to reach Orzammar. Soon.**_

 _I look away from Alistair, glancing back to the tired, battered, bloody friends who have fought like fury since we entered into this hell. Even Morrigan's proud stance is slumped with fatigue. Zevran's good cheer is dampened, muted, unlike the man I know as my friend. The newest of us, the dwarven berserker, Oghren, has become a terrifying monster who blames his ill-temper on a severe case of sobriety._

 _ **But that is because Wynne confiscated his drink and turned it to other purposes.**_

 _In the blue-hued light of Wynne's dwarven light crystal, I see the mage direct Sten to lower his burden to the ground. I have been so very grateful for and blessed by the qunari's unflagging strength, for he carries what is most precious to me in all the world. A warm, strong hand rests on my shoulder and I look back to Alistair. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion; I can feel his hand trembling through my shirt. I do not wish to admit it, but he is right. We may have no food, and we are low on water, but if we are deprived of rest as well, we will never see Orzammar or the sky again._

 _I wrack my mind, fighting for a coherent thought, for there is an idea tugging at the edge of rational consciousness, dangling just out of reach…_

 _"You are right, Alistair." I breathe, and he sighs in relief. "We are not far from the ruins of Cadash Thaig." I announce. "Once we get there, we can rest."_

 _"Why Cadash?" Alistair questions me as the rest of them begin to shoulder packs onto backs all but too weary to carry them. "Why can we not remain here?"_

 _"Because," I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the constant roaring headache, "I remember…Cadash has wells. We might be able to…find water."_

 _Alistair narrows his eyes, scrutinizing me. I am certain that I look as terrible as he does, if not worse. "When was the last time you had any water, Salem?" he asks, keeping his voice low so that the others do not hear. I do not answer him and the hand on my shoulder pushes me the slightest bit, as if shaking me into awareness. "When?" he growls in a whisper. "I saw that golem take a fallen control rod and whip it across your back. You lost a dangerous amount of blood. You_ _ **need**_ _water!"_

 _I glare at him until the flames of indignation in his eyes vanish. "I gave my share to Leliana." I tell him. "And I've had no water for half a day…at the least."_

 _"Maker's blood." Alistair mutters, kicking the dirt in frustration. "We should rejoin the others. These tunnels are still rife with darkspawn…and I'm getting hungry enough to wonder what they taste like."_

 _I join him in a macabre laugh as we fall in behind our companions. Soon, however, worry spikes in my heart and I move faster, catching up to Wynne, who is walking beside Shale. The golem took Sten's burden to relieve the qunari, exchanging with him the weight of the packs that many of us were too tired, injured, or weak to carry. The senior enchanter offers me a weak smile, but there is worry in her eyes, almost more dominant than the profound fatigue._

 _"How is she?" I murmur, not wanting to wake the woman cradled against the stone body of the golem, her body wrapped in the last blanket that we have._

 _"Holding her own." Wynne informs me. "Her fever seems to have plateaued, but I…I am concerned, Salem." Wynne falls back behind the crowd so that we are not overheard. "We were all injured in some way in that battle, and we have fought since. Leliana's injury—the gash to her leg—while not insignificant, was not a severe injury, but infection set in with a rapidity that disturbs me. I used what cleansers I had left, and I've the last of Oghren's whiskey. When we reach the thaig, I shall use it to try to disinfect the wound, but she has to fight the fever on her own. Her susceptibility to infection is very likely because of the damage done to her body in the dungeons of Val Royeaux. A fortnight of sleeping on a fetid floor with open wounds." the healer shakes her head, her lips turned down in disgust and sorrow. "The myriad diseases in the place wreaked havoc on her body and seem to have permanently damaged her ability to fight illness. We must keep a closer guard on her in the future, Salem. The things she mutters in her dreaming...I have seen many things and known many evils, but the words she speaks cause even me to tremble."  
_

 _I do all that I can to conceal the worry that is overtaking my psyche, dominating my mind. I want to see Leliana's ocean eyes open. I want to hear her voice. I want to know that she is alive and I want to tell her that I love her…but I know that rest is the greatest healer and that, without anything to aid us in treating her illness and mending her wound, she needs to sleep for as long as she can._

 _"How did we not see this!?" Oghren bellows from the front and, with a nod at Wynne, I run to join him, ignoring the flares of fire from the gash across my back._

 _I follow the dwarf's gaze and gasp in shock, nearly falling to my knees in relief. He looks through a small entry way, a door with the symbols we had seen in Cadash Thaig engraved in the stone above it. Through a short hallway, I see the gleam of dwarven light crystals like the one that Wynne carries. The light illuminates the sheen of a glistening substance that can only be water._

 _"Oghren, Morrigan, with me." I order. "The rest of you, wait for my word."_

 _We enter the room with weapons drawn, myself in the lead, Morrigan in the middle, with Oghren behind. The room is free from the stench of the darkspawn, and on the sides I see crumbling statues that look as though they once stood like the carvings of the paragons in Orzammar. Stretching out before us is an underground lake. I run to it, looking down at the crystal clear water. My throat is drier than the Hissing Wastes, but I can care for myself later. The water is cold and clean. That is all that matters._

 _I run back into the tunnel and summon the others. We have made the mistake of calling out to one another before, only to be swarmed by darkspawn, deep-stalkers, and the obscenely large spiders that skittered through this Maker-forsaken place. Wynne enters and takes stock of the situation, beginning to triage in her mind. I will let her give orders for these few hours. I need the reprieve. I need to care for Leliana…to lend my hands to something other than weapons and death._

 _"Morrigan, have you enough strength left to kindle a fire?" Wynne asks, the witch nods, and a small flame ignites above the ground, beginning to burn brighter and higher as Morrigan draws arcane symbols into the stone with her staff, setting her spell. "We all need to wash." Wynne continues. "We have been caked in filth for the last four days, by my approximation, but this water looks clean. Fill our waterskins first and then let me check your wounds. Salem," she catches my attention and waves me over. When I get close, she lowers her voice. "Take Leliana into the lake." she said. "The temperature of the water might help curb her fever, and it is imperative that we bring it down. The poor child has burned for two days without reprieve."_

 _"Right away." I all but run to the golem._

 _I know that, with my back injured as it is, I should not take Leliana's weight, but I do not care. The_ _ **need**_ _to help her is a clawing, raving beast inside my gut. The need to hold her is equally as pressing. I pull the blanket off of her, wincing as I see the dirty bandage wrapped around her calf, covering the deep gash made by one of Branka's blades. She is pale and wan. Her hair is matted to her face with the salt of her sweat, and her chest rises and falls intermittently as she breathes in an irregular, feverish rhythm._

 _With great care, I take Leliana from Shale. My back warns me against this, but I do not care. Leliana is too light in my arms. She has lost weight. All of us have but hers is…hers is stark in comparison. I move towards the lake, looking down at the woman I adore, forgetting my pain, forgetting my worry, forgetting the bone-deep weariness that threatens to leave me deep beneath the earth, too tired to continue on._

 _I step into the frigid water, hissing as it rises over the tops of my boots and drenches me through. I see an outcropping of rocks and I make my way towards it, sitting on one of the rocks, holding Leliana so that her fevered body remains almost wholly submerged. With one hand I keep her head above the lake's surface and with the other I scoop up the life-giving water and pour it onto her overheated brow. I repeat the action over and again, finding that it soothes my frenetic spirit. It makes me feel so much less useless._

 _Leliana's eyelids flutter and my heart leaps into my throat. My entire body freezes for I fear that if I move I will send her back into an unconscious stupor. Her eyelids flutter again, then open, leaving me breathless at the sight. She tries to lift her hand, but when she hears the water, she stops and gazes up at me, a question in her eyes._

 _"Welcome back, dear heart." my throat is knotted with emotion. "Oghren found an underground lake near Cadash thaig. We are in the water."_

 _"You're…hurt." her beautiful, lyrical voice is naught but a rasp and still it is the most glorious music that ever I have heard. "Why are you…taking me…swimming?"_

 _I chuckle but I want to crumple into a heap and sob with relief and joy and thanks. I smooth Leliana's hair away from her face, leaving droplets of water running down her flushed cheeks._

 _"Your wound became infected." I tell her. "You have been feverish for two days. Wynne thought this might help bring your temperature down. Is the water too cold?"_

 _"It is...easing the fire." she affirms and once again I breathe a sigh of relief._

 _"Are you in pain?"_

 _"A little." she confesses and I hold her closer to me, not caring if she can feel the desperation and relief in the embrace. "Two days?" she wonders aloud. "I did not feel...gone for that long. Did I...did I frighten you?" she whispers._

 _"A little." I tease, for if I say anything other I might begin to weep, and I need Leliana to regain her strength, not worry over my tears._

 _"Forgive me?" Leliana asks. "Please."_

 _"There is nothing to forgive." I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her torso, under her breasts. Her weary head reclines on my shoulder and all is well in the world. "All I want is for you to be well again. All I want is to hold you. I wish to stay like this for as long as we may, but you must tell me if you become too chilled."_

 _She relaxes further against me and her breath ghosts across my cheek. "I feel…pleasantly caught betwixt winter and summer." she murmured. "You are…so very warm."_

 _I turn and press my lips to her forehead, not caring that the water is making the cut on my back burn, dismissive of the freezing of my feet. All of that is unimportant, in this moment. All worries can wait._

 _"I love you, Leliana." I whisper, relishing the sound of her voice repeating me, though she slurs over the words as her eyelids flutter again. Her head sinks further against my shoulder, and the tension in her body relaxes, free for the first time in two days from the heat of the fever._

* * *

"Through that door." I bade Cassandra, and she flung wide the door into the first mate's cabin. I knew this turn of events would displease him, but I did not care.

"These are not our quarters." Cassandra stated. "We were given beds in the crew quarters. We should be…"

"In a room with a door capable of being locked." I sliced off her words. "This ship is full of sailors, some so desperate that even the sight of an injured woman's bandages being changed, should she be naked, might incite their lusts."

"That is disgusting." Cassandra declared and I agreed with her…perhaps the first time I had ever done so.

We said nothing further. Cassandra moved to the bed and pulled back the covers. I placed one knee atop the bed and kept one foot on the floor as I eased Leliana's body onto the mattress. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing still irregular and shallow, and her skin still too pale. She was alive, however. That alone mattered to me. I stood, for I knew I could not stay here any longer and keep my sanity.

 _We must weigh anchor at once and sail for Kirkwall. I will_ _ **not**_ _let Flemeth win. And should she_ _ **ever**_ _harm Leliana in this manner again, I will impale myself on the bitch's sword until she no longer has the will or the power to drag me out of eternity._

I turned to leave, halted by Cassandra's voice.

"Would you mind rendering assistance a moment more?" she asked, the strain of anxiety in her voice ringing like a clarion bell. "I must see if her wounds have reopened, and an extra pair of hands would be invaluable."

Everything within me shrieked to say no, to deny her request, and cease the risk I took by being in this place. But as it ever had, and ever would, my love for Leliana won out over the reasoning of my mind. It was not my mind that slew the archdemon atop Fort Drakon. I fought it with my heart, and with my heart I claimed every victory I had ever known. This would be no different.

I returned to the bedside of the woman I loved, wanting to thread my fingers through her hair and stroke it back away from her face as she always asked for me to do when we were wed. Instead, I focused my vision on the corner of the room, refusing to look Cassandra in the eyes. I could see that she was enduring hell enough in the way that she moved, spoke, and rarely turned her gaze from Leliana. I did not need to thrust her back into other hells with the scars in my eyes. I did, however, need to help my last love, the second half of my soul, my very reason for being. I had damned her and needed to help save her. I felt it was the sole way my choice would find itself equalized.

I nodded to Cassandra. "Use my hands as you wish."


	49. Chapter 49

**Cassandra**

I did not know who the strange, masked sailor was, but I knew that the Maker answered my prayer for a miracle. The words of the desperate and the faithful could avail much. She worked with an efficiency that could be described as ruthless, tugging the covers of the bed down without jostling Leliana even a little. She pulled off Leliana's boots and set them aside, a flurry of movement that made me realize how exhausted and ill-prepared I was to care for an injured woman.

 _I am not a nurturing soul. I would not even have though to remove her boots and make her comfortable. Maker, thank you for the kindness of strangers._

The sailor pulled the covers up over Leliana's body, covering her legs, but leaving her upper body uncovered so that we could access the wounds. She turned to me and held out her hands. Only now did I notice that they were covered by tight, leather gloves.

"I cannot get her clothing off." the sailor's voice rang low, dark, and rough, but the tone was unmistakably feminine. "My hands will not…my hands are not well-suited to that task, and I am certain she would prefer such an…intimate…action be done by a friend."

I wanted to see this woman's eyes, for her voice intrigued me, her mask intrigued me, but this was not a time to seek out the secrets of another. There was too much at stake. Too much to lose. I brushed past her and moved to Leliana's side, hoping that she would have fallen asleep; have gained some respite from the pain. Her eyes fluttered open, bleary, hazed with pain, filled with exhaustion.

"Cassandra?" she asked, her eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings, attempting to take it in, to learn it as she had been trained for many years to do. See everything. Know everything. Detect, observe, and remember. "How did…where are we?"

"We are on board the ship." I sat down beside her and she winced as my added weight on the mattress caused her to shift. "Preparing to leave for Kirkwall. One of the sailors carried you here."

"I…remember." her words were slurred and her voice cracked. "Cass, I…I feel…wrong."

"I know." I fought to keep my voice from trembling. "We will be underway soon, and returning to Kirkwall. Until then, I need to…I need to look at your wounds, Leliana. To see if there is anything that I can…that I can mend."

My intuition screamed at me. It informed me that Leliana's condition was worsening. I could but hope that we would be given enough time to get her the help and healing she required. Until then, I would conquer myself and fight through this with her. I would lend her my strength and trust in the grace of the Maker, who had sent a stranger to help us in our time of need. I looked back at the sailor who stood in such a manner that it seemed she was leagues away from the bed instead of within a few step's distance.

Her shoulders were bunched and knotted, her arms crossed over her abdomen as though she were ill or injured. Even though the mask she wore covered the majority of her features, I could see the outlines of an intense, severe countenance that her short cropped hair, half of it the color of rich, fertile soil, the other half a bright, glimmering silver, would complement. I wondered at her choice of clothing, for in the heat of the season, she wore a thick shirt with long sleeves, trousers of the same material, and knee-high leather riding boots that had seen better days.

However, none of that mattered. I could interrogate the sailor. After helping Leliana. After making sure that _both_ of us would return to Kirkwall, breathing, speaking… _alive_.

 _Alive is all that is important at this moment._

"Leliana, I have to remove your shirt." I inform her. "I do not wish to cut through it if it can be avoided, for you do not have another garment in your pack. What say you?"

"Do…what you…must." Leliana attempted to smile, but it turned into a wince as her entire frame tensed, becoming almost wire tight against the mattress.

 _I do not know what is happening. I do not know what to do. I would give…I would give anything to have listened to Kathyra during the time that we worked and fought alongside each other. I would give anything to possess even a drop of her knowledge in this moment._

I bit my lip and began negotiating Leliana's right arm out of her sleeve, attempting to cause her as little pain as possible. However, on my own, I could not remove her shirt the rest of the way without hurting her badly. I did not want to do that. I had drunk my fill of seeing pain stamped across the lines of her face and for this reason I admired her strength all the more. Her ability to look not only at battle, but its aftermath, bespoke a courage that I did not even know the extent of.

"Sailor, can I ask your assistance?" I asked the woman who still stood, lurking like a tall, lanky, masked ghost in the corner.

She moved across the room, to the other side of the bed, with an eerie grace, a grace that I had seen in soldiers on the battlefield, not those who made living on the sea their life's calling.

 _Who are you?_

She sat down opposite of Leliana and leaned close, wrapping her arm around Leliana's shoulders and, with no warning, helping her sit upright. The former bard's lips parted, a harsh, choked noise of pain breaking from her chest, but the sailor's hands were already moving. Her gloved hand gripped Leliana's shirt and pulled it over her head and down her left arm with a smooth speed. She handed me the shirt and eased Leliana back against the pillows, saying nothing.

"Thank you," I murmured, my mouth going dry as I saw the dark red blood on the bandage around my counterpart's abdomen.

"Of course." the sailor replied as I pulled out one of the sharp, small knives that Kathyra had placed in Leliana's pack and used it to cut through the layers of bandaging.

I blanched as I laid bare the wound. There were cracks in the burns, oozing blood and weeping a clear fluid that I knew preceded and indicated infection. The area around the wound, at the edges of the cauterization, looked dark and bruised...the darkness looked to be spreading. With a hesitant touch, I rested my hand over her stomach, feeling the unnatural tightness and firmness of the skin. My fingertips brushed the edges of the bruising and Leliana flinched and whimpered. There was sweat on her brow and the flesh beneath my hands much too hot.

"She's bleeding internally." the sailor murmured and Leliana's eyes flared open at the voice, but they were fever-bright and unfocused. I did not know if she was fully lucid, or able to understand what was happening around her.

"How can you know?" I whispered, terrified at the thought, terrified that she might be right.

"I have seen it before." the sailor spoke behind her mask. "I have felt it before."

"W…what can I do?"

"Keep her comfortable. Control her fever." the sailor's brow creased, and I could not see her eyes, but the sound in her voice told me that if I could look into them, there would be pain there.

 _Why? For what reason? There is something here to be discovered, to be revealed, but it is just out of reach and I do not know the questions to ask or the paths to follow to lead me to the end._

The door to the cabin slammed open with such force that I flinched, putting unintentional pressure on Leliana's wound. She cried out and attempted to curl into herself and I moved my hand away, torn between the agony of my friend and the screaming of the man I had spoken to when I chartered the ship.

"What in the Maker's bloody name do you think you're doing!?" he bellowed. "These are my quarters!? And _not_ your ship!?" he directed his words to the sailor. "Why is your worthless backside not outside helping load the cargo!? How _dare_ you, you insolent, worthless…" with every step he advanced.

I rose to my feet, prepared to draw my weapon and put the man I had paid in his place when the sailor rose from the bed, once more with an eerie, fluid movement. She took one step towards the tall, broad-shouldered first-mate, undaunted by his height, size, and the bulging muscles in his arms. With lightning speed, her hand lashed out, gripping his shirt.

The tirade ceased with a startling immediacy. I could not see the sailor's face, but the first-mate paled. The tension in his muscles relaxed and his massive arms went limp. His dark eyes were over-bright with a terror and dread that I had seen only once…when I faced a demon who embodied fear itself.

 _What in the Maker's name is she doing to him? Why did his words cease, his aggression stop…why does he look as though he is gazing into the depths of the abyss itself? I begin to think that the assistance of this woman is not a blessing…but perhaps a curse. I have been warned so many times that often evil comes wearing the clothing of good, embodying…_ _ **why would she not let me meet her eyes?**_

A moment more and the sailor released him. Her superior backpedaled, his eyes flaring about the room as though orienting himself in a new space, coming back from…wherever he had gone when he looked at her.

"You're welcome to the room, milady." he said when his eyes at last list on me. "I'll tell my men to weigh anchor and return to Kirkwall. Now."

"Thank you, ser." I replied, still attempting to process what I had just seen. I could find but one explanation. When the first mate fled the room, I addressed the sailor. "You are safe in your answer, but I must know…are you a mage? Can you help my friend? Can you heal her?"

The sailor turned, slow, and even though her features were masked, I could see sorrow stamped on her face. Still, however, she would not show me her eyes.

"Would that I were." she whispered in that voice with its dark alto notes, low, rough, and still somehow melodic. "I am sorry I cannot aid you further."

Saying nothing more, she left the room, her head held high, her shoulders straight, and proud. I turned my attention to Leliana, but I knew that I had just been lied to. The sailor, the one person in this blighted city who had taken the time to offer us aid, possessed some power beyond the norm. Some abilities that transcended the mortal capability. This made her one of three things. A mage, a Seeker, or a demon…we were trapped with one of those things aboard a ship…and would be for the next two, or, if the winds were against us, three days.

 _Maker, help me!_


	50. Chapter 50

**Salem**

Time passed. Merciless time. Time in which I worked in the manner of a golem. A mage made Tranquil. A soulless construct. Time in which I lost myself to the sweetness and sorrow of memories. Days gone by. Days that would never be again. In all Thedas, only one place existed that I wished to be. In the room , with Leliana, holding her, caring for her, doing all I could to make sure that she did not suffer. As she had done for me…so many times. So many times she had lost rest and foregone sleep in order to care for me. Because she loved me.

 _That was the sole thing that kept me alive during the Blight. Knowing that I would awaken to the light in her ocean eyes. Knowing that light would allow me to struggle through another day of sorrow and suffering. There is so much that I owe her._

Instead, I stood on the deck of the ship, staying well away from the place I most wanted to be. I knew that Cassandra Pentaghast would be suspicious. I had cowed and broken a man by doing nothing but looking into his eyes. Such a thing would be relegated to the realm of magic and demons. I had seen the shock evident on her features when I answered her questions and said that I wished that magic ran in my blood. No one with any manner of sanity would have spoken so.

 _But I am a woman twice dead and now alive, and my sanity has never been assured. My mind has never been a bastion of sanity or a place of peace._

The first-mate passed by me, the fury in his eyes incapable of disguising the lingering fear. I knew what looking into my gaze could do to another person. I could not even bear to look at myself in the mirror for an extended period of time. I was not immune to the hell that dwelt there, the scars that had come to life. Every time I bore witness to my reflection, every dark moment that I had endured, every wave of pain, every instant of panic, every wound memorialized in my skin, poured over me in a wave. My eyes were not only a weapon, but an implement of torture, and I wondered if the god who allowed me to live again intended this to be so.

The first-mate passed by me and stopped. I did not know which he would greet me with…his words or his fists.

"When we make port in Kirkwall," he growled, choosing words, "you will be _off_ of this ship. For good. What you did today was little better than mutiny. Other captains would have you tied to the mainmast and had you _flogged_."

The tone of his voice grated on my ears, for I knew what he intended to do. He wanted to restore his authority, to ignite in me a measure of the fear I had placed in him. What he did not know, and could never comprehend, was the manner of torment I had already endured. I knew the slash of the sword, the pierce of the arrow, and the lash of the whip.

"They might have tried." I said, low, non-threatening. "It would be nothing that I have not known before."

Once again his eyes flashed with the mixture of wrath and dread. One, the other, or good sense would win out.

"Allowing you on this ship was a mistake." he glowered at me for a moment more, then stalked away, seeking another that his stature and position might intimidate.

 _Allowing me to draw breath was a mistake,_ I thought, _something that I and my enemies know all too well. However, leaving this ship and returning to Kirkwall was a thing I already knew must be done. Flemeth will allow fate, chance, and my own heart to achieve her endgame, but if I stay away, if I fly far from where Leliana is, there will be more happenstances such as this one. I_ _ **will not**_ _allow this to happen again, and well does that bitch know it._

I stared at the rope in my hands, contemplating, for a moment, tying a hangman's knot in it and draping it around my neck. This was not the first of these thoughts, nor, I feared, would it be the last. I would be forever damned to living, to breaking the faith of a prophet. Flemeth had claimed it would be so, and to this moment, in all things said, she had given me no falsehood.

There would be no death and no respite until a faith brighter than the sun had been vanquished. There would be no peace until I, the woman named for such a thing, ended the hope of peace for our chaotic world. The twisted bitterness of this fate was not lost on me.

 _I made my destiny to save this world. Now, my destiny is to throw it into death and chaos. Two lives, two purposes. This is the twisted grace offered to the mortal who dared bring down a god._ I threw down the rope, disgusted with myself, disgusted with who I had become. _Once, I lived as a woman who would let nothing tear her away from what she loved. A woman who fought for what she believed in. A woman who...damn this._

I turned on my heel and walked below decks. I could feel the eyes of my fellow sailors and the first-mate scathing across me as I moved, but I did not care. I made my way through the hanging hammocks in the crew quarters and back towards the first-mate's and the captain's cabin. When I came to the door, I stopped and bit my lip. A woman in a mask saved Leliana in Kirkwall when the qunari attacked. A woman in a mask carried her from the docks of Ostwick.

 _If a woman in a mask comes to her side once more, for a third time, and she is still awake…then the charade will be ended. I want to care about that…I want to care, but somehow I do not believe I can. There are too many other things that I_ _ **do**_ _care about and for._

With those thoughts in my mind, I opened the door and entered the room, making barely a sound. A lantern that stood, secured to the nightstand, gave off a soft light, just enough to see by. Only just. Just enough to see that Cassandra lay in the corner of the room, a rough blanket draped over her body. Now that I possessed enough time, I examined the lines on her face.

Her wounds were new, made within the last day, I would wager. Whoever had stitched them together had skill with a needle, but never before had they mended skin. I could tell by the unevenness of the stitches. Still, even the slap-a-dash sutures would prevent a garish scar. Some of us were not so blessed. I bore the kiss of a dragon upon my cheek. That mark would always be blatant, screaming out on my face. I shuddered as I remembered the flames whipping across my flesh. Even so, the fiery breath of a high dragon could not compete with Leliana's incendiary kisses. It was her lips that left true scars upon my soul and psyche. Cherished wounds. Forever cherished.

I turned my gaze to her and sorrow became a vine of thorns twining around my heart. I had memorized her every feature, the arch of her cheekbones, the slope of her lips, angle of her brows…the cellic curves of her waist and hips. In my mind, I could see her with diamond-clear vision, radiant and powerful, hair blowing in the wind like a standard of hope for men and women of all races and creeds to flock towards. The standing emblem of love, residing in the beating heart of a mortal woman.

Even now, as she lay pale, injured, and ill, she looked like a goddess to me. I loathed the heavy sheen of sweat on her brow; I despised the ragged, jerking breaths that she took. At some point, Cassandra had removed her breastband…I assumed it was to keep unnecessary pressure off of the two ugly wounds beneath Leliana's left arm. I felt the voyeur as I gazed upon the soft swell of her breasts, the rose-colored nipples that were so…so devastatingly responsive when touched.

 _And yet it is not sensual desire that is kindled within me…but the desire to hold and to love and to protect. To take the place in her life that once belonged to me. Once, she said, I made her see her scars of things of beauty. They still are, dear heart. You will always be beautiful to me._

Leliana's brow creased, her body flinched, and her lips parted as she inhaled through clenched teeth. I felt as though I had taken a maul to the gut. She was in pain, and I could do nothing but recognize her agony. I reached out to move her sweat-soaked hair away from her face and stopped, staring at the leather glove that covered my skin.

 _This glove is safe. This glove is a shield. This glove is not…is not me. It is not honesty; is not truth in identity. It is a_ _ **fucking**_ _lie._

I pulled my gloves off and tucked them into my pocket, then reached up and tore off the mask that I wore. I trembled as I breathed free, shuddering as I exhaled, my hand trembling as it reached out. My fingertips brushed against her hair and I tucked it behind her ear. I knew that I should depart, walk through the door and leave the two of them be. I could not. I rested my hand over her forehead and my heart dropped into my gut and twisted with an agony somehow both dull and sharp in the same breath.

 _She's burning alive_ , worry threaded through the vine constricting my heart, pressing the thorns deeper into it, a slow, excruciating death of the soul.

The noble thing to do would have been to replace my mask, put on my gloves, and wake Cassandra. I did not want to be noble. I wanted to care for the woman who held my mind, body, and soul. She shifted in her uneasy rest, and a wretched, pitiful whimper broke from her lips. I reached out and stroked my hand through her hair, soothing her, watching the tension in her muscles ease, rejoicing in the textures of her hair against my skin and scars.

"I'm here, Leliana." I whispered, needing to break my silence and speak to her as I once had, before I died. "Rest easy, and let me care for you. At long last, let me care for you."


	51. Chapter 51

**Salem**

There were immunities that could be developed. Enough exposure to a toxin would make one resistant to that toxin. The magic of the Joining made wardens somewhat immune to the taint. Time spent around the object of fear often lessened the fear, and those who grew up in a place of unimaginable beauty grew accustomed to the breath-taking sights they witnessed all too soon. I knew all of this. I also knew that no amount of time or exposure could make me immune to the sight of the woman who owned my heart.

The flash of red hair sprayed on the pillow, though dark with sweat, reminded me of the bliss of mornings past, when I woke to it tickling my nose. The curves of the body beneath the covers would forever be the lines of the map that led me to my own soul. The soul I had been half-severed from upon being wrenched out of paradise. The heart that had stopped beating after breathing her name.

I felt so very much the voyeur as I watched her unsettled sleep, remembering when it had been common and natural to us. But then, I died. Leliana answered to her new calling, and now she loved another. Perhaps she did not love Kathyra in the same way as she once loved me, but that did not change and would never change the fact that I died. That she had allowed her heart to heal, move forward, and love again. She was so strong. Stronger than ever she knew, or believed.

 _I wonder if you understand it now,_ I wondered as I soaked a rag in the bowl of cool water beside the bed. _If the life you lead and what you have dedicated that life to has made you realize the strength and beauties in yourself that you never saw._

I began wiping fever-sweat from her body, remembering how she despised the feeling of it, the stickiness of the salt clinging to her skin, dragging her back into the dark and dehydration of the dungeons of Val Royeaux. As gentle as possible, I sat down beside her, my mind bombarding me, _torturing_ me with memories of the ease of our intimacy. My skin had not yet once touched hers, and already my hands were trembling. Even being this close to her threatened to undo me.

 _I wonder, Flemeth, if your scheme is even a possible thing, for if she opens her eyes, I believe my heart will cease to beat. How many times will you drag me back if I do not live long enough to do your bidding?_

Leliana shifted and a wave of pain crossed over her features. Instinctive, her hand moved to rest over the worst of her wounds, attempting to protect herself as she always had. I ceased my movements, waiting for the wave of pain to ease, and, I hoped, pass, before I did anything further. However, the crease in her brow only deepened and I saw the muscle in her jaw leaping as she clenched her teeth. Her hands were grasping at the covers; her breathing became fretful, and sweat broke out on her forehead once again.

I gathered my fraying courage and reached out, placing my palm against her forehead. My heart kicked in my chest as I felt the heat emanating from her body, a fever of infection scorching her yet again. I knew I should remove my hand, but I did not want to. In spite of the radiating heat, her skin still felt like the richest of satin against my hand. I ached to keep this contact, but knew that it must be broken.

 _I will not lose, Flemeth. I swore that I would not lose, and I have never recanted my word. I have never broken my promises._

I removed my hand, but did not stand and leave. The pain had not departed Leliana's countenance. If anything, it had become worse. Her eyes worked frantically beneath her lids and her fingers began twitching across the coverlet. I knew the signs all too well, for I knew her body as well as I knew my own. She was caught in the grip of a nightmare.

"No more." Leliana whispered, and my heart and resolve broke.

 _It is one thing to watch her suffer from physical wounds that I cannot remedy. The wounds to her soul and psyche however…to those I can offer her the balm of comfort. My Leliana…a woman of touch, of connection. Even the hell you endured could not break you of that._

I moved slow, attempting the greatest gentility as I moved behind Leliana and pulled her into my arms. She hissed as her wounds were aggravated, but her eyes did not open and she did not cry out. I cradled her against my body, her head resting between my neck and shoulder, her breath washing across me. Every part of me, every hair on my head, every scar on my body, every breath in my lungs remembered what it was to hold her close. Even years apart, even injured and ill, she still smelled of Andraste's Grace.

Moments passed and the tension in Leliana's body eased and her breathing evened, but it gave me no comfort. Her entire body radiated heat, and her bandages and hair were soaked through with perspiration. I reached over and took a cup of water from the table beside the bed. With great care, I cupped Leliana's neck with my hand and tilted her head back, easing the brim of the cup between her slack lips, feeding her sips of water in hopes to keep her from complete dehydration. I watched the movement of her throat, heartened that she managed to swallow the water.

I felt the smallest bit better, for it seemed that I had done something good for her at long last. Always, she had cared for me so much moreso than I had for her. I felt as though I might break apart at the seams, for I held the entirety of my desires and knew that it would never be mine again. This moment between us was stolen from the gods who owned us both…this moment between us was not even between _us_.

 _I hold the summation of my success and my failures_ , I thought as I caressed her hair, combing through the tangles with my fingers. _For the greatest thing that ever I did was love you, and my greatest failing was not finding a way to end my life when another began it again against my will. It is because of me that you lie injured. It is because of me that you burn with fever. It is because of me that you suffer._

"I will pray that somewhere a god of forgiveness exists." I whispered to the woman whose ring lay now beneath my skin, against bone and vein, a very part of my body and existence. "For I will never cease to love you and that…that inability to release you to the world and to your calling is a sin of itself. Please forgive me, dear heart? Forgive me for I have wronged you so."

The woman in my arms shifted and I tensed, holding my breath, hoping that I had not awakened her. That hope fractured when I saw her eyelids flutter. I could not relinquish her without harming her, and I was unwilling to do so. I turned my face away, knowing that if I looked into her eyes, and she into mine, that Flemeth would be granted victory. I would not allow that to happen…not even to look into the ocean of her eyes once again.

"Where…where are we?" Leliana murmured, but her words were slurred to the degree that I did not believe her to be coherent.

I said nothing, knowing that my voice would give me away. I clenched my teeth together until they ached and felt as though they would split down the center. I wanted to speak. I wanted to look at her. I wanted to do anything but sit here, holding her, lying to her by omission…hiding from the woman I had sworn never to deceive. I might have died, but the word of a Cousland was immortal. Our promises did not end with our lives…but all men possessed moments of weakness, and mine came when I heard a muffled sob.

Acting on instinct, without thought, I turned my head, and my eyes locked with hers. Electricity crackled, shattering through my heart and pulsating down through the entirety of my body with every accelerating beat. However, in spite of the depth and the light of the ocean eyes, there lay no coherency. I knew Leliana. I knew that she would not remember what her eyes now saw. I knew that the fever had taken her in its grasp and, without the intervention of a competent healer, would claim her. I did not need to worry. She would not know me, save perhaps, as a dream when her fever broke.

However, she did meet my eyes, and a soft smile stole over her lips, breaking me. She blinked, slow, and settled into my arms, her brow wrinkling in confusion now, instead of pain. Her lips parted.

"K…Kat?" she whispered as her blinks grew more and more languid until her eyes closed all together.

Her breathing evened once more in the rhythm of sleep and at that moment, I let the pain slam into me. It did not matter that her mind was altered, overheated by the fever. It did not matter that she believed me dead these many years. It hurt that the woman who had claimed she would always know me by my touch, by the way I held her would…would call me by the name of the woman who shared her life and her bed.

A demon of grief shredded through my abdomen, ripping upwards with its claws, raking across my lungs and exsanguinating the breath from them, tearing it from my mouth in a bitter sob laced with all the cruelties of the world and the gods. My lips parted and my grief emerged on a ragged gasp that would have been more appropriate after being run through with a blade. Tears swarmed my eyes, the salt of them stinging until they poured down my cheeks like a waterfall, dripping into Leliana's hair, soaking her with the sorrow of a woman long, long perished.

I held her against me all the tighter for the knowledge that I would have to let go soon, and I let myself weep as I hugged her against me. I wanted it to be as it was in the tales, where the tears and voice of a lover could draw the one they loved from the endless sleep of death, or cure their illness, or heal their wounds. Instead, my tears did nothing but remind me of the bitterness of my fate.

"My dearest daughters." I heard a voice from the door and I looked up, ready to kill whomever might enter should they wish to disturb us. Standing in the doorway was a small, feminine figure with a waterfall of indigo hair that brushed the floor, silver eyes that gleamed like stars, and wearing a gown woven of the constellations. "My heart breaks for them."

She stepped into the cabin, making not even a sound, her eyes resting on the woman in my arms. She looked into my eyes without flinching…but of course, she would have no need to be afraid. No god needed fear a mortal hell.


	52. Chapter 52

**Kathyra**

The words on the parchment began to blur together. My hand cramped from holding the quill since sunrise, and I could not remember if I had eaten. I was no stranger to throwing myself into my work to distract my mind, but I could not deny that, this time, it was not working. There had been perhaps one or two patients in the clinic since Leliana's departure, one with an easily treated ailment, the other with a simple wound that required nothing more than cleansing and stitching. I had attempted walking the city streets, but that did nothing but remind me of the horrific mess that was Kirkwall under Meredith's reign.

No amount of work, no amount of distraction could keep my mind from focusing back on my worry for the woman I loved. I could not stop the sense that something in Ostwick, or on the journey to or from there, had gone terribly wrong. Now, the sun was setting. The ship Cassandra had chartered, if everything went as predicted, should return on the morrow. I prayed that it would. I prayed with everything that I had within me.

The door of the clinic swung open and I turned, grateful for yet another distraction. I knew the silhouetted figure all too well, but something was wrong. The proud shoulders were slumped, the bright eyes were dull, and her hair shielded her face as she stumbled in and dropped her pack on the ground, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. She slid down to the floor, propped her elbows on her knees, and buried her face in her hands.

"Rylie?" I rose from my seat, pushing the chair aside and walking to the young templar who looked to be the very image of despair. I knelt down beside her. "Rylie, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Everything." she murmured, her brogue low and rough. "Everything about this damned city. I've been mandated to have three days leave…time to think and get my head together. Thank the Maker it was Captain Cullen and not Meredith who…" she trailed off and her shoulders heaved a sigh of despair.

"Rylie." I pushed her hair back from her face and saw a woman who had aged from the young, raw templar private I had met on board a ship sailing for doom. There were circles under her eyes so dark they looked like bruising. Even with the muscle added to her frame, she appeared almost gaunt, and in the light of the candles I could see threads of grey in the chestnut curls. "You look awful."

Wide, obsidian eyes lit on mine and a look of incredulity spread across her face. After a moment, her chapped lips spread into a smile and she began laughing…the laugh of delirium and exhaustion that I knew all too well. However, her laughter had always been infectious, and soon I cracked beneath the sound and joined her in the laugh I desperately needed.

The laughter diminished, the emotion faded, and both of us heaved a sigh of mutual exhaustion. I got to my feet and held out my hand. Rylie took it and I helped her to her feet. She winced and her free arm wrapped around her abdomen in a way that worried me. I stepped closer and cupped her face with my hands, searching her eyes.

"Rylie, are you all right? Are you in pain?"

"Kathyra, I'm not hurt." Rylie answered, doing very little to assuage my concern. She truly did look to be on the verge of collapse. "But I…I cannot remember the last time I've eaten, or…or slept or…" she shivered, "…had anything to drink."

 _It is no wonder that she looks half dead on her feet,_ I thought, moving to help support more of her weight.

I guided her to the table in front of the roaring fire and helped her sit down. I poured her a cup of water and filled a bowl with the stew that hung in a pot over the flames. She drained the water and held the cup out to me in a mute plea for more. I took it, refilled it and sat back down, holding the cup away until Rylie's attention fell on me once more.

"I need to know what happened." I spoke, and the templar sergeant nodded, though her raven eyes filled with a haunted light.

She took the water from my hand and set it on the table, her lower lip trembling as she contemplated where to begin.

"The Gallows is a _fucking_ nightmare." she hissed, her eyes sparking with anger. "It's no wonder that they named it for a place of execution. Most of the templars there, Kathyra, they're…they're Maker-damned predators. Seven days ago, one of them cornered Felicity…a thirteen year old mage, who is quite lovely, meek, soft-spoken, but...you can imagine he had no desire to carry on a conversation about the weather."

Below the table, my hands curled into fists of rage that I could not turn to anything productive. There were no shortage of horror stories from the Gallows, but these sorts were by far the worst. I almost did not wish to know the ending of this one…not if it had Rylie looking as though she were ready to fall to pieces.

"Kestrel and Bethany Hawke intervened." Riley continued her tale. "Felicity managed to escape but…but you can imagine that a templar being stopped from having his _fun_ by a mage wearing the apostate's mark would simply walk away and do nothing?"

"No." I felt blood drain from my face as I worried for the woman in the most precarious position of all of us in this damnable city. "Rylie, what happened? Is Kestrel all right?"

"I don't know." her words were stained with grief and concern. "I heard all the screaming too late. By the time I got there, Captain Cullen had taken charge of the situation. I tried to shove my way through the crowd, but I didn't get there in time. There was blood spatter on the floor; Cullen was protecting Bethany from the templar's _friends_ , while the would-be rapist himself huddled in the damn corner clutching his manhood and screaming all manner of epithets. He was sitting in a pool of his own blood."

"Serves him right." I muttered, even though a cold fear settled in the pit of my stomach.

"The templars order the mages to heal their wounds." Rylie offered a sorrowful smile. "I am fairly certain that waste of breath will never act as a man again."

"That aside," I attempted to focus. "What happened to Kestrel?"

"She and Bethany were placed in solitary confinement." Rylie breathed. "Complete isolation, one meal a day, and…and…" Rylie's voice became anguished and her eyes were filled with sheer terror, "…and if she's _hurt_ , Kathyra, she…she won't receive healing attention until she's released. It has been _seven days_...you know Kestrel, Kathyra. She's...she is..."

"Always so very thin." I said, feeling terror's icy claws sink deep into my gut. Leliana compared Kestrel to a Grey Warden, for her appetite was expansive but she never seemed to gain any weight. Limiting her to one meal a day could be disastrous to her health. "When will she be released?"

Rylie shrugged her shoulders, distraught. "I don't _know_." her voice held tears. "She _castrated_ a templar, Kathyra!" she pushed back her chair, rose to her feet, and began pacing the room. "I'm quite certain that she does not know, but if Meredith finds out, Kes will be _flogged_ in the middle of the Gallows, or maybe even _executed_! Bethany has Micah Hawke's protection, but…but Kestrel has nothing! Today, I asked…" her voice cracked, "…I asked Cullen when she would be released; if she was all right, and he would tell me nothing. I became angry and…and before I said anything further he ordered me to take three days furlough. Kathyra, my lover might be hurt, might be starving, might be…might be dying."

"Rylie." I placed my hands on her shoulders, stopping the frenetic pacing. "Can you not go to where she is; see how she is doing?"

The young woman shook her head, sending chestnut curls swaying to and fro. "No one under the rank of lieutenant is allowed into the solitary confinement area of the Gallows." she informed me. "And there are several _sadistic_ lieutenants who take full advantage of the privilege of being allowed there."

"Why has this not been stopped?" I breathed, wondering when the Maker would grant us a moment of peace. "Surely Justinia knows that Meredith is nothing short of mad."

"I do not know any longer." Rylie muttered, a woman broken looking to me. "She must know but…but perhaps she does not care. Perhaps, like the majority of the blighted population, has absolutely no concern whatsoever for the fate of any mage. Or, perhaps, she's letting Meredith maim and torture innocent men and women as some move in the damnable _Game_ you and Leliana are always referencing!"

"Rylie!" I shouted her name, attempting to bring her down from her anger, but the sorrow and anguish in her eyes ignited the feelings of worry anew for the woman that _I_ loved. "Rylie, I _know_. Leliana has been away these last four days, and I _know_ that some ill has befallen her or Cassandra. I understand your worry and I feel your pain. In this, we are sisters."

The pacing stopped and she turned to me, her lips trembling, her cheeks pale, her eyes screaming with torment that a woman in the prime of her youth should not yet know. "Kathyra, I am…I am so frightened. There is nothing that I can do to help her, nothing that I can say to plead her case, should it go before Meredith. It is driving me mad and I am...I am so afraid of losing her. I would rather be in the Gallows now, at least close enough to her to overhear whatever might be said but instead…instead I have been _ordered_ to leave and I…"

"I know." I reiterated. "I _know_." I hugged her close to me and held her tight, granting her a safe place to vent her anger and release her grief.

After a moment, the rigidity of her body faded and she sagged into my embrace. I felt the heat of her tears soaking into my shirt and watched her shoulders heave and shudder with her weeping. I knew what it felt like to be powerless while someone that I adored hurt and suffered. I knew with intimacy what it felt like to be powerless while the one who held my heart was murdered before my very eyes.

"I am…I am so frightened, Kathyra." Rylie confessed. "I am so frightened, and I do not know what to do."

"I understand." I assured her, soothing my hand up and down her back. "What you are going to do is eat. I will prepare a bath for you, and then you will bathe. After that, you will _rest_ , Rylie Camerloch. Needless worry will accomplish nothing, and solitary confinement can be brutal on the soul and psyche. _When_ Kestrel is released, she will _need_ you in a way that she never has before. Will you do this for me? For Kestrel?"

Rylie pulled away, wiped tears from her face with her sleeve, and nodded, slow. The poor thing looked beyond exhaustion, and I felt certain that I would end the night carrying her from the bath to the bed. If it meant that she would get the rest her body so desperately needed, I would be glad to do so. I guided Rylie back to the table and to the bowl of stew, which she began to eat. I removed the stew from over the fire and put another cauldron over it, filling it with water in preparation for Rylie's bath. All the while, I prayed.

 _Maker above, your daughters are suffering. I ask that you keep your watchful eye upon them and give them the strength to endure whatever adversity they face. Keep Leliana and Kestrel beneath your watchful eyes and please, have mercy upon them...have mercy upon Rylie's and my soul as well, and give us strength for whatever adversity might lie ahead. I beg of you._


	53. Chapter 53

**Salem**

"Your heart breaks for them." I repeated the words of the Maker back to her face, seeking for any sign of sorrow, any hint that she believed she might have spoken amiss. Of course, I sought in vain.

"Yes." She answered, unmoved and unperturbed by the heat inside my voice, unswayed by the way that I held Leliana closer to me, as if to protect her from the god who called her 'daughter'. "My heart breaks for the cruelties of the world, the darkness here that spreads to those I hold close to my heart and wounds them." She drew closer and stroked her hand across Leliana's fevered brow. "I hate to see her in pain." The Maker whispered, and everything within me wanted to lash out and strike her.

Instead, I struck with words. "Then why not end it?" I asked. "You have the power to, with your touch, with your breath, take this affliction from her. Why are you standing over her, grief in your eyes, sorrow in your voice, making no move to end her suffering?"

The Maker turned her gaze to me; eyes that held an entire cosmos of living and breath and being attempted to pierce my very soul. It frightened me that I remained unmoved and unafraid. I knew I stood in the presence of a god. I knew the power of gods and the reach they had over all of Thedas and still that did not move me to awe or to fear. I wanted the answers to my questions.

"Does the woman who suffered the pain of an entire world not know the answer?" the Maker asked, turning my questions against me, answering an inquiry with an inquiry.

"Speak in the god's language of enigmatics all you wish, it will avail you nothing." I scoffed. "I do know the answer that you will give me, and I am unsatisfied with it. Perhaps it was fair to me, at that time, to allow me to suffer."

"It allowed you to grow." The Maker reminded me, as I knew she would. "It allowed your mind to change, your warrior's spirit to gentle. It broke you in only the best of ways, and allowed you to reforge yourself into a weapon of greater purpose and a strength more vast than many can reckon."

"I was an imperfect vessel, and still I am rife with imperfection." I admitted, having long foregone any pride in the mockery of life that I led. "You called Leliana as your prophet reborn. You saw in her a soul and spirit perfect enough and bright enough to walk alongside your own and change the face of Thedas into what you desire. Why then have you not healed her?"

"Because there is another here whom you have not considered." The Maker spoke, the edge of waterfalls in her voice, the immutable knowing that a being of great power deigned to answer a mortal inquiry. "Another here whose heart is only just, only now awakening to all that it has learned; a heart that is coming into its own." Thedas' most-worshiped god turned to the corner, directing her eyes at the sleeping form of Cassandra Pentaghast. "All suffering has purpose, Salem Cousland." She spoke my name with a different tone…a stranger inflection. "Your suffering had purpose, for it helped create the beautiful heart that resides in the woman you cradle to your chest. Your suffering crafted Leliana into the woman whose voice lifted into heaven and touched my grieving heart and deafened ears. I _heard_ her, Salem. I _heard_ her as I have heard no other since Andraste sang to me ages…ages ago."

I saw a winsome star glimmer in the Maker's eye and fall from it in the form of a tear, a comet streaking down the face of a galaxy, dripping into a gown woven from the stars. Thedas' god, Thedas' hope in times of need, stood before me and wept. She wept at the memory of loving a mortal woman; she wept for the memory of hearing Leliana and returning to the world she had created. The world that, even when she persisted in her abandonment, still cried out to her.

"And me?" I whispered. "Do you hear me? Or, upon my being wrenched from paradise by another, who claimed me for their own, did you turn your back on me?"

"Such heat and passion in words that mean things you do not know that they mean." The Maker smiled at me with a kindness that stung me at the core of my heart, for I knew that manner of kindness was not deserved. "But there are questions that should precede it. What becomes of a mortal who fells a god, and lives? What does killing a god make a man? Does destroying something not make you stronger than it? Better than it?"

"No." I shook my head. "Only the arrogant warrior believes that the defeat of their enemy makes them the better combatant. A simple crack on one's armor can fell the mightiest swordsman the land has ever known. Even dragons depend on the winds to fly. All men have weaknesses."

"And gods who made men in their image?" the Maker lifted a single, indigo eyebrow. "If all men have weaknesses, then all gods must have weaknesses as well. Hubris…hubris has been the downfall of many a god, and many a man who served them."

"Am I the product of Flemeth's hubris?" I said, at last garnering a reaction. The silver eyes widened and sharpened until they looked like the point of a spear glimmering in the midday sun. "Or am I simply an abomination in another form? Is my soul still my own, or does it belong to her? What is my purpose, besides the breaking of Leliana's faith?"

"This was never your fight, Salem." The Maker's voice sounded as though it was haunted by ghosts older and more fearsome than anything the mortal realm could conceive of. For what made the gods toss and turn at night would destroy mere mortals with a breath. "A mother saw her children wronged, and the justice she embodied took hold and reigned over her mind. Time has made her crafty, anger has made her vengeful, and she sees nothing more fitting than love destroying faith…for it was love of power that destroyed her children. Do you understand me, Salem? Do you understand now that the conflict you are a part of has raged for millennia? That you are but a recent pawn in an old, old…"

"If you call it a game I will slaughter you." I hissed, for I would not see any life reduced to such a triviality…not even by a god. "My hands and my blades have struck down gods before. Do not test me."

Her eyes slashed at mine and again I did not recoil or look away. I held the power and might and majesty of her gaze and did not make myself obeisant to her power. "Not a game." She spoke. "Never a game. But that might be what she considers it. It might be how she constructs her movements from here to there, like pieces on a chessboard. Do not think that because mine has no known cessation that I devalue life."

"Then give me a promise." I whispered, low, for I knew she could hear me.

"What do you want?" the Maker asked, sounding tired and dispirited. "Riches? Escape? A new face and new name?" What would you ask of me, Salem Cousland? What will you ask of the god you have been resurrected to dethrone? What will you demand of me so that you will not serve the purpose you have been brought back for?"

"You think so little of mortals." I murmured, threading my hand through Leliana's hair, stroking it away from her face. I pressed a soft and gentle kiss to her fevered-flushed cheek, tasting her sweat. "I want nothing for myself, Maker. I am at peace with who I am and with avoiding the purpose I have been given and do not want. I am willing to live as I am and risk what Flemeth desires. All I ask is that you no longer allow Leliana to be punished for my intractability. The time for her to suffer for my decisions is long past; it ended when I died and our marriage vow was sundered. Should Flemeth ever desire to take her wrath against me out on Leliana…or those that Leliana calls friends and calls loves…stop her, as I know you can."

"That is all you ask?" she inquired and I nodded. "All you ask is that I keep her safe…and keep her from suffering for your refusal to play into Flemeth's wants?"

"Yes." I answered, unwavering. "And tell me now that she will not suffer long, and that she will not perish."

"I give you my word." The Maker said, and I nodded, pleased with the answer, no longer afraid that Leliana would leave this world a darker place…but still filled with sorrow that she would be forced to endure the pain of recovery.

"Thank you."

I watched as the Maker walked to Cassandra and knelt down before her, tracing pale, alabaster fingers over the lines of stitches on the woman's face. The wounds did not change, but Cassandra shifted in her sleep, murmured something unintelligible, and fell back into deep slumber. The Maker rose and walked to Leliana. She rested her hand on my once-lover's forehead and whispered in a language that had been lost to time for ages. Leliana's body relaxed in my arms, the crease of pain faded from her brow, and the rasp of her breath seemed easier. I understood the purpose of the injuries that she bore, but that did not make it any easier for me to witness.

"She will not wake." The Maker murmured. "Nor will Cassandra, for many hours yet. Hold her if you wish. Let her feel your love." She reached out and touched my cheek and in her skin I felt a child's breath and the rage of thunder. "You surprised me, Salem Cousland." She whispered. Her hand fell away and she walked towards the door. She looked back to me, then forward, then back again, as if debating something. At last, her eyes met mine for a final time. "No one knows what happens to a mortal who kills a god and lives. It has never happened before. But you are beginning to make me believe that when one brings down a god, they bear the burden of and also absorb the divinity they ended."

"What do you…" she faded from sight, as though she had never been, but I could still feel the burn of her finger against my cheek, and taste the bitterness of her words like molten iron in my mouth.

I sighed and hugged Leliana closer to me, deciding to cherish the moments I had been given, as I had so long ago when the Maker placed my wife's hand in mine and blessed us. I would attempt to see this moment as another blessing rendered, even though walking away would break my heart again. I breathed deep and steadied my spirit. I would survive the breaking. I always did.


	54. Chapter 54

**Cassandra**

I awakened and felt rested for the first time in many months. My vision was clean and clear, my thoughts precise and ordered, my hands steady, and the aches and pains from the bar brawl and subsequent thrashing were non-existent. I did not know from whence the vigor filling me came, but it did not matter. I would treat it as a gift, as the ability to do what I needed to do, and care for the woman who lay, mercifully, still asleep. I did not know for how long I had slept, and in my mind I cursed myself for taking that rest when our situation was so dire.

The small table by Leliana's bed hosted and pitcher and bowl that had not been there before. I assumed they had been placed there after I succumbed to slumber. I moved towards it, pouring the water from the pitcher into the bowl. I sighed in relief as the tepid liquid washed away the salt of my sweat from the night before. I would not feel clean in truth until I was able to bathe, and even then…

 _…even then I will never forget the blood caked under my fingernails and covering my hands. I will never forget Leliana's blood-curdling scream of pain amid the stench of burning flesh when I pressed the glowing iron to her skin. I will never forget the full realization of my shortcomings…and that is all right. To remember your flaws and learn from them is healthy, but to_ _ **live**_ _in one's failures, meditating on the what-if's, will strangle the soul._

I turned my attention to Leliana, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she took shallow breaths. I did not care, however, for the shallow breaths were even and smooth, not arrhythmic and stilted as they had been last night. Her cheeks were pale, the color of moonlight, and I whispered a prayer of thanks that they were not tinged with fever flush. That did not, however, mean that her fever had broken. This meant that we had been granted a reprieve…for now.

I had seen infection steal the lives of men and women, regardless of the injury they suffered. It could not be the same for Leliana. I would not _let_ it be the same for Leliana. I gathered my courage and pulled the covers down to her waist, biting my lip as I saw her bare upper body. So much damage had been done; so much pain endured. I believed the long, vivid scar across my left thigh to be a disfigurement that might give a lover pause before they touched me. Looking at Leliana, at the map of scars and once-mutilated flesh, I was humbled; brought low by the realization that it was not the marks left on the body that defined beauty. Instead, what was done to earn those marks comprised beauty's definition.

 _She survived a betrayal of the cruelest sort,_ I remembered Most Holy speaking to me of Leliana's past, the horrors untold that the Left Hand endured and survived. _Yet still she found the courage to love again, and when death took that love from her, she healed and found companionship with another._

With great care, I unknotted the bandage that covered the two wounds beneath Leliana's left arm. I did not yet have the courage to set eyes on the worst of the injuries...the puncture to her gut. I breathed a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks when I saw that the edges of the wound were the deep pink of healing flesh and not the bright red of infection and inflammation. I re-bandaged the wounds and rested my fingers on the bandage wrapped around her abdomen, distressed by the dark blood staining the cloth. I pulled my hand away when Leliana shifted, biting my lip when I saw smears of crimson coating my fingertips.

 _The blood is still wet,_ the muscles in my gut twisted with anxiety. _It can only mean that the wound is still seeping and that it has soaked through the several layers of cloth. Leliana is still bleeding...this does not bode well._

I laced my fingers together and pushed out my hands, cracking my knuckles. Leliana's eyelids fluttered at the sound. A few moments later, they opened, clearer and more cogent than they had been since the attack. I immediately took my canteen from my belt and offered it to her. She nodded and I reached out, cupping the back of her neck and helping her raise her head. Her hair was still damp with sweat, though her skin felt cool to the touch. Perhaps her fever _had_ broken. I prayed for that to be the truth.

Leliana finished drinking and I guided her head back down onto the pillow. She smiled and a hint of light struck her eyes, telling me that she wore an honest expression. How she could smile in this condition…I did not know.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, barely above a whisper, fearing that at any moment our good fortune would end.

"Better." she murmured. "I think…I think my fever broke."

"You are no longer burning alive." I rested my hand against both of her cheeks and her forehead, nodding that my words were still accurate. "For which I am grateful."

"As am I." I heard a note of humor in her voice and marveled at her courage once again.

I steeled myself for the answer to my next inquiry. "How is your pain?"

Leliana closed her eyes, as if sinking into herself and searching for the answer. "It is not so fierce as it was, but I am lying still. I fear when I move it shall return in full force."

"That was my concern as well." I agreed, turning my eyes to the bandaging and dreading the thought of undoing the knot that held the cloth in place. "I have to check the wound, and clean it if I can. I'm afraid it will not be pleasant."

"Do what you must." Leliana waved a languid hand in the air, granting me permission to cause her pain, once again.

I reached for the bandage when a knock at the door interrupted me. I frowned and got to my feet, answering the knock. The ship's first mate, who had behaved appallingly the night before, looked at me now with respect and contrition in his eyes.

"The winds were in our favor, milady." he informed me. "We are docking in Kirkwall's harbor as we speak. The sailors have prepared your horses; they're waiting on deck for you. What assistance do you require?"

 _Thank the Maker,_ I wanted to weep with relief, fall to my knees and lift one hundred thousand prayers of gratitude. We were in Kirkwall. Kathyra would be here. She would save Leliana. In my mind, no other alternative existed.

"Would you be so kind as to have a sailor carry our belongings to the horses?" I asked. "My companion is badly hurt and cannot walk."

"I will do so myself." the first mate said.

I moved away from the door so that he could enter the room. Confusion filled me as I watched him gather our belongings with a brisk efficiency that I had not previously known existed. The man was proud in his position. After taking orders for years, he became the man to give them, and he excelled in that. After yesternight, when we commandeered his quarters and when the sailor that aided us did…something…the first-mate had not been seen by us. That he helped now…

 _He wants us off of his ship,_ I realized, shaking my head, but grateful for the aid.

I directed him to gather the few supplies we had brought with us, and moved back to Leliana's bedside. Her eyes opened and her face wore a look of strained resignation. I lifted her shirt from the opposite pillow and held it out, offering it to her. She shook her head. The bandaging on her upper body covered her breasts, and I understood her desire to move as little as possible.

I nodded and reached for my pack, held in the first-mate's hand, and withdrew the blanket that I always carried. I pulled the covers off of Leliana and arranged the blanket around her, attempting to keep her comfortable, and warm, as I felt a slight chill in the air.

"Are you ready?" I asked, tucking stray hair behind her ear.

"As ever I shall be." she replied, another soft smile illuminating her face.

"Hold on to me." _Please, dear Maker, spare her the pain of this. Let me see her safely to Kathyra's love and care. Let me save her._


	55. Chapter 55

**Salem**

"Easy, now." I spoke to the spirited stallion as he pranced on deck, tossing his head, tired of the confinement he endured below deck during the voyage.

"I thought you said you knew what you were doing with horses." the first-mate sneered as he approached.

"They appear to enjoy looking at me no more than you do." I replied, watching as he shuddered at the memory of meeting my eyes, reliving every terrible moment that his life had known in that moment.

"Understandably so." he growled, throwing the packs he carried across the back of the beautiful black stallion that Cassandra had been riding. "Make certain they don't thrash, you worthless whore. One of the passengers is wounded. Last thing she needs is to be thrown by an animal you can't control."

I tightened my grip on the reins, struggling to control my temper, remembering a time when I could have seen him destroyed with nothing but a few words. Remembering a time when I had been second only to the king of Ferelden. I attempted to shake my mind clear of those thoughts. In the life before, I did not want the position or title that Alistair granted me.

 _Am I now a woman who wants power? The manner of woman that I swore I would not be? Perhaps…perhaps, as I am now, utterly powerless in this world, I do wish for a measure of the woman that once I was. The woman who could strike this man down with nothing but a glance and a few words. Now, however, I keep silent. I keep silent in fear. Fear that I will be known for the woman I once was…and destroy the world._

The first-mate finished cinching the saddlebags to the stallion, and the curve of a familiar weapon caught my eye. I waited until he turned his back before reaching out and touching the well-remembered lines and sworls of engraving. I closed my eyes and recalled the many times I had seen this bow. When my mother taught me the art of archery as a child, promising that, when I grew older, she would let me string and draw her heirloom weapon.

When that day came, my heart nearly burst with pride. I had held the deadly work of art passed down amongst the Cousland women for generations, and been worthy of its use. Never before had I known such pride and such fierce joy until the day I held Leliana in her arms and called her mine. Never before had I known such sorrow as the day I placed the bow in my wife's hands and bade her farewell…the night that Cassandra and Divine Beatrix had stolen my wife from me.

The woman herself emerged from below deck, carrying Leliana in her arms. My throat tightened and my eyes burned. I increased my grip on the reins until I felt my nails bite, through the leather of the gloves, into the flesh of my palms. I turned my face away, though I could not erase the image from my mind.

 _Her skin, whiter than fresh fallen snow, the dark circles like bruises beneath her eyes. The pain stamped on her features…an expression of longsuffering that she should no longer wear…for I should no longer be alive to cause her so much pain. Yet, I am. And she suffers…she suffers as she did when first I lived._

Cassandra walked to her other horse, the gentler one that stood quiet after the first few tosses of her head and stamping of her hoof on the deck. I turned my face away, letting Cassandra focus on Leliana, not on the questions she undoubtedly had about me.

" _Sitzen_." Cassandra ordered in the guttural Nevarran tongue, and the paint mare surprised me by going slowly to her knees, a maneuver I had seen parade horses trained to perform.

 _Loghain ordered his knights to train their mounts in this manner, knowing all manner of needless ceremonial moves so that, should a grand march of the armies take place before the king, Mac Tir's knights would shine brighter than the rest. And they did, as it came to horsemanship. However, my father said that so long as his knights could ride, and their mounts endure the battlefield, they should focus on their swordsmanship, archery, and the things that made men and women warriors. Loghain always took the horsemanship prize in the tourney, but Cousland never lost the melee._

It hurt to stand but a few steps away and do nothing as Cassandra eased Leliana onto the gentle horse's back. My love's face tightened and I could see the muscles of her jaw clench as she bit back the pain burning in her body. My heart splintered along the lines of old fissures and cracks…a heart broken too many times to count and still beating against all laws of nature and love and the Maker.

"Are you all right?" Cassandra asked. "Do you think you can manage?"

"I will be fine." Leliana answered, her words clipped, her accent harshened by agony in a way that made my entire body ache to hold her once again. "But not…not for long."

 _Always so honest,_ my lips trembled and my eyes caught fire with restrained tears. _Honest in a way that I struggled to be. How much sooner would we have come together had I not let my pride reign over my tongue? How much more time would we have been granted had I not let my stubbornness and solitude comprise my identity? How much did I steal from us, dear heart? I may…I may never know._

"Hold on." Cassandra spoke, but, unlike before, I heard no command in her voice. It was a wish, a plea, a _need_. The Divine's Right Hand stepped away from the horse. " _Steigen."_

On her order, the horse rose to its feet in a slow, smooth motion that belied years of proper training and technique. I turned my face away, unable to see the agony that would bloom across Leliana's features, unable to acknowledge the worry burning in Cassandra's cinnamon eyes. I had no place here, not merely standing on this ship, holding these reins, but in this world. In this time. In this moment.

A callused, scarred hand took the reins from me, and a soft voice, accented from all countries, spoke to me. "Thank you for your help, sailor." Cassandra spoke to me, and I did not meet her gaze or look towards her voice. "While you may not believe such things, the Maker sent you to us in an hour of need, and I am grateful for the aid you gave us. Should you ever need…"

"Do not make me that offer." I warned her. "Or it will turn against you and bite like a serpent. I was happy to be of help, milady, but do not trouble yourself on my account. Care for your friend, and may the Maker go with you."

I could feel a change sweep over her energy, gratitude becoming questioning. "You speak as no sailor I have ever met."

"Further proof that I should not speak at all." I murmured, leaving the reins in her hand and walking towards the small leather satchel that the first-mate held out to me, along with my swords in their sheaths. It shocked me that he had not stolen them and sold them for the gold they would bring.

I strapped them to my back, lifted my pack onto my shoulder, tightened my mask around my face, and walked down the gangplank, behind the steady, even gait of Cassandra's horses. We entered the clamor of the docks and I remained behind, watching as the horses went upwards, towards Lowtown and the clinic run by Kathyra. I sighed and turned towards the slums and filth of Darktown, feeling the need to fade into nothingness for a while, to walk in a place where no one asked questions. I walked with a heavy heart, remembering a night spent on the parapets of Vigil's Keep, the wind ruffling my hair, Leliana's gentle strumming of the lute, and the words of an old Starkhaven ballad painting the night in her exquisite voice.

 _You take the higher road, I'll travel the low,_

 _and wait in the land that is promised._

 _Where ne'er I shall witness my true love again,_

 _you are gone; I am here, and light's fading._


	56. Chapter 56

**Kathyra**

"I don't know how you do this." Rylie claimed, watching me as I washed sticky red blood from my hands. "The smell and the blood and the person you are healing screaming at you and cursing you and almost striking you."

"Indeed." I smiled, scraping dried blood out from under my fingernails with the tip of a healer's knife. "Thank you for restraining him. I have been struck by many patients before, and it is not the most pleasant of occurrences."

Rylie shook her head, sending chestnut curls waving everywhere. "How do you endure that?" she asked.

"They are in immense pain already." I replied, washing my hands one final time and drying them. "Healing is often more agonizing than the injury or illness itself. They are reacting to the pain, not to me, and therefore I cannot judge them for their actions, even if it ends with a split lip and a black eye."

"You are a better woman than I." Rylie took the basin of blood-tinted water and walked to the window, throwing it out into the street.

"Not better." I assured her. "Simply different. There is a great and grave difference between the heart of a warrior and a healer. I know this, for I have been both. The life and calling of a warrior never suited me. So do not agonize over further knowledge of yourself. That you do not share another's strength does not mean you are weaker than they."

Rylie turned, set the basin on a nearby table, and leaned against the wall. "You would have made a wonderful mother, Kathyra." she spoke, and my gut clenched at her words, a pain that could not be released save by confession.

"I almost was, once." I admitted, and Rylie's lips parted in shock. "My lover and I intended to adopt a child…but the night we decided to expand the borders of our love, her life was taken."

Rylie's lips trembled and her black eyes glittered with the sheen of emotion. "Maker." she muttered, and the door burst open.

I turned and my heart fell into my gut as my throat tightened. Cassandra stood on the threshold, looking as though she had walked through the Black City. Crude, uneven stitches covered the cuts on her face, she looked pale in spite of her dark complexion, and her eyes were both wild and filled with exhaustion. I took her in and felt as though my heart stopped when I realized what was missing.

 _Leliana…Leliana is not beside her._

Worry roiled through my body and my mouth became dryer than the sands of the Hissing Wastes. "Cassandra, what's happened?" the words flew from my lips.

"I need your help." she rasped, taking a step forward and stumbling. She reached out and steadied herself against the wall, but I could see the tremors shaking her body. She fought even to stand.

"Rylie." I spoke her name and ran out of the clinic, hearing the templar's footsteps behind me.

Cassandra's horses were tied to one of the posts outside and blood drained from my face and my heart thrummed in my chest like a hummingbird's wingbeats as I saw Leliana. She was pitched forward, her head laying against the horse's neck, her arms limp around the animal's body, her ankles tied together beneath the belly of the horse, so that she did not fall off. I felt made of iron, unable to move, capable of doing nothing but standing there in shock and horror.

 _I knew this would happen. Oh, Maker, I did not wish it to be true, but I knew…I knew…_

A rush of air passed by me as Rylie moved into action. A knife flashed in her hand and she cut through the rope binding Leliana's ankles. With as great of care as she could, she rolled Leliana off of the horse and cradled my lover in her arms, moving past me once again into the clinic. I fought for sanity. I fought for composure. I fought to breathe.

"Kathyra," Cassandra's heavy hand rested on my shoulder, "Kathyra, please. She needs you."

I remained still, transfixed by the memory playing in the back of my mind, the memory of watching a bright piece of steel slash through the throat of the woman I loved. Giselle's eloquent silence as she fought to breathe, fought to convey her last wishes with nothing but her eyes, for she could not speak. The pressure of her bloodied hand resting over my heart, pressing into my soul her belief for me…that I could become a healer. That I could continue as she taught me to be, and not as the woman Leron had made me.

 _I will_ _ **not**_ _lose another lover!_ I swore to myself, shaking off the paralysis of terror and walking into the clinic.

Rylie set Leliana down on the table that I used for more invasive procedures and placed a small pillow under her head. I rushed to my lover's side, looking down at the blood-soaked bandaging around her abdomen. I feared what I would find beneath it.

I reached for my small healer's knife and sliced through the bandaging, laying bare a horrific would. Scabbed, blackened flesh stuck to the bandaging and when I pulled it away, whitish-green pus and fresh blood oozed out of the wound. Leliana flinched as I poured water over the bandaging, loosening it so that it would pull free. She shifted, attempting to curl up and protect her body from the pain I was inflicting.

"What happened?" I glared at Cassandra as I wiped away the fresh blood with a cloth soaked in bitter wine.

"We stayed in a tavern and a fight broke out." Cassandra explained. "Leliana and I calmed it, but later we were ambushed in the street. She pulled our attacker off of me and took the worst of the damage."

"Of course she did." I muttered, frowning at the deep bruising that had spread too far over her abdomen.

 _Fucking Couslands!_

I stared down at the wound, looking at the signs of infection and the blackened skin at the edges. I knew what had been done, and also knew what nightmares it would have reawakened in Leliana's mind. She had endured such brutal treatments before. Her nights were still tormented by those days and nights spent in abject torture. However, I knew Cassandra's knowledge of healing was all but nonexistent. Leliana would have ordered her to cauterize the wound. She brought this on herself...to save her life.

 _I will not lose you, Leliana. I will **not.**_

I reached up and felt her forehead. Her skin was cool and clammy, entirely too pale from blood loss. She should have been burning with fever by this time. I brushed her hair away from her face and her eyelids fluttered open. A soft smile touched her lips as she took in my worry and concern.

"Are you…going to save me again?" she whispered, her voice ragged and raw from screaming and sobbing in pain, no doubt.

"I am going to try." I assured her, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead, tasting the salt of her sweat. "Close your eyes and rest, darling. It is the best thing for you now."

Her eyes closed and I looked back down at the wound to her stomach. I rested my hand across it and felt the rigidity of the skin and the heat emanating from it, a temperature that existed nowhere else on her body.

"Maker's breath." I whispered, looking to Cassandra and Rylie who stood, tense and anxious. "Rylie, she's bleeding internally. I cannot stop that or mend it. She needs a mage."

"In Kirkwall?" Cassandra asked, her hands clenching into fists, her eyes darkening with wrath. "It will be more impossible here than in Ostwick."

"No it will not." Rylie shook her head in defiance. "I'll get Kestrel and bring her here. I will _not_ watch Leliana die, Kathyra. Do what you can for her, and I shall return as soon as I am able."

Saying nothing more, the templar left the clinic at a run. Moments later, I heard the sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestone streets, and knew that Rylie would bring Leliana a healer, no matter what it might cost.

"What can I do?" Cassandra asked. "What can we do for her?"

I sighed and looked at the woman I loved, biting my lip. "I will do my best to drain the infection from the wound." I murmured. "Beyond that…if she is not magically healed…all we can do is keep her comfortable."


	57. Chapter 57

**Rylie**

I tapped my foot, waiting for the ferry to the Gallows. I wondered if Cassandra would make me reimburse her for the horse that was certain to be stolen. I could not take it on the ferry and, in Kirkwall, no man's, or templar's, property was sacred. However, the loss of the horse was certainly worth Leliana's life.

 _The poor woman looked_ _ **terrible**_ _. Three steps from death, as Kestrel would say._

And, as Kestrel would say, I had run off, as usual, with absolute alacrity and no forethought. I did not have the slightest idea what to do when I reached the Gallows. All I knew was that I had Leliana's lockpicks in my pocket, and that my lover, my thief, would know how to use them. However, I did not know how I would smuggle her out of the Gallows, or if she would even be capable of using her magic, due to the trials of a week spent in solitary confinement.

 _But it will be the first time in months that I have been able to hold her, touch her, make certain that she is taken care of. I am so worried, but have no manner of knowing whether or not my worry is validated. Leliana is quite unwell and badly hurt, Cassandra herself did not look capable of standing for much longer, and Kathyra is a wreck of nerves. I have to remain calm in this situation. I have to._

The ferry arrived and I all but leapt off of the docks and onto the boat. The ferryman recognized me, even out of uniform, and offered me a friendly smile.

"Good morning, sergeant." he greeted me, and I struggled to find a calm, composed voice somewhere within me. "Back to the Gallows?"

"Yes." I managed, noticing that even that single word emerged too strained. I needed his help. "And I need you to remain at the Gallows until I return. It is a very important task, and there is a gold sovereign in it for you."

"Ah, Kirkwall." the man smiled, his teeth glimmering behind his beard as he rowed the boat across the harbor. "Where silence is a commodity to be bought and sold."

"Nothing to be done about that, I'm afraid." I muttered under my breath, praying to the Maker that this man would be willing to hold his tongue. "Will you sell me your silence, ser?"

"I've held my tongue for silver, sergeant." he smiled again. "You've offered me gold, and my silence is yours."

"Bless you." I thanked him, though a warning of Leliana's whispered through my thoughts.

 _A man who will sell his silence will sell his words as well._

The ferry stopped and I climbed up the ladder to the docks, walking at a brisk pace through the main courtyard of the Gallows. I tried to ignore the large stone statues, but I could not shake the feeling that they were watching me; that they were watching over everyone. They were especially eerie on night patrols, gleaming in the moonlight and looking like they might move of their own volition at the slightest provocation. I could not have survived the years spent in this hellish environment without Kestrel.

Her love kept me sane; kept me grounded; kept me from falling apart by reminding me what we were here to do. She reminded me of the reasons why we were locked here, and that we would, eventually, depart. There was little freedom offered in the life of a templar, but I had cherished what freedoms I had. In the Gallows, neither mages nor templars had freedoms. We all suffocated under Meredith's iron grip. The grip that would strangle me if I were caught or captured. Freeing a mage with an apostate's mark was punishable by, at the worst, death. My poor Kestrel…a woman brave enough and skilled enough to become a templar, even with magic coursing through her veins, had been subjected to what she had eluded for years.

She dealt with the stagnant suffocation of the Gallows little better than I, always stepping in to stop an injustice. She did not always side with the mages, either. There were many times that my Kestrel had taken down a mage who accosted a templar simply out of anger, spite, or vengeance. Meredith herself had resolved one such dispute. The mage who attacked the templar was made Tranquil. The sole reason Meredith spared Kestrel that fate was due to the fact that the attacked templar had spoken for her. That was not the first time I had wanted to slaughter Meredith where she stood. The woman, in my humble opinion, no longer deserved to draw breath. She had harmed too many, including the woman I loved.

I shook my head clear of those thoughts, needing to keep my wits about me here in the belly of the beast. I stole through the halls of the Gallows, hiding in shadows and behind pillars when I heard footsteps and voices drawing near. There were too many here…so close to the wing where the mages sent to solitary confinement were housed. It frightened me for the safety of those behind that door. There were too many here who had allowed Meredith to change them. They had adopted her attitude towards mages and took liberties with and employed cruelties against the magic wielders for no cause. And I had suffered for my defense of the defenseless. I suffered for believing that all lives possessed value and worth, no matter what race or what gender or what powers they held or did not.

 _Templars drink lyrium and become addicted to it. I know that it would be painful to separate myself from the searing, burning liquid that somehow makes everything in my body seem_ _ **right**_ _within itself. I cannot surrender it, no matter how much effort I might place towards that endeavor._

I paused as I approached the solitary confinement wing, listening for the voices and footsteps, hearing them when the door to the wing opened and slammed shut, a lieutenant walking down the hallway and out of the building. I clenched my hands into fists, praying that what Kestrel had taught me years ago would prove true on this day, when I so very much needed it to.

 _Security is an illusion, sweet girl,_ she once told me. _Security exists only in the mind. Imagine a keep filled with locked doors, and only three people carry the key. In their minds, the keep is so secure that they forget about the front door, because entry is denied to the rooms of importance. Over the years of ownership, their vigilance wanes. A good thief will wait for_ _ **that**_ _day, and then open the front door and walk in, stealing everything, and those who possess the keys are so complacent in their duty that they no longer fear the thief. Always try for the front door, Rylie. Do not make the task more difficult than it needs be at the outset. Wait until the simple option is exhausted before complicating your plan._

I hoped that her wisdom and her thief's mind would aid me now as it had so many times before. I moved out from the shadows and walked to the door with all the surety and pride of the lieutenants I had seen strutting through the Gallows, wearing their confidence in their shoulders and canting the angles of their noses upwards. There were very few lieutenants that I would speak to when it came to forwarding matters upwards through the chain of command.

My hands were sweating when I placed them on the handle of the door. When the latch moved beneath the pressure, I rejoiced. I did not care who would suffer for the lack of security, should the breach be found out. In spite of my triumph, I wasted no time opening the door and closing it behind me. The sound of the latch closing echoed through the stone hallways and I flinched. It was not enough that I had made it in the area. I now had to make it out alive, with Kestrel.

I moved as fast as I could through the hallway that looked like a jail cell. The doors were heavy, metal, with nothing but a small, barred window that allowed one to look in. They were so high up that I had to jump up to look through them and seek out the woman I loved. The woman I worried for with every breath since finding out she had been placed here.

" _Kestrel_." I hissed in a whisper, believing that she would hear me.

 _Her hearing is exceptional. I hope…_

"Rylie?" I heard her voice and ran towards the door that held her, tossing the leather case of lockpicks through the bars in the window. "What in the Fade are you doing, Rylie?"

"Getting you out." I pressed my body against the door, as if it would connect me with her, make me closer to her. "At least for a little while."

"Rylie, you can't…"

"Leliana is injured, Kes." I informed her. "I did not stay for long, but it…it does not look good. Kathyra was worried; you know she's never worried."

Kestrel did not reply. Instead, I heard what sounded like small scratching noises, like those of a mouse scurrying across a wooden floor. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Kestrel. I struggled with the tears that sprang to my eyes at the sight of her. She looked far too thin, her frame gaunt, her shoulders stooped. Her face was covered in dirt and sweat, for the temperature in this place was stifling, and the water they were given was used for drinking, not to wash. Her vivid green eyes were almost lifeless, her short, raven hair dull and listless, the red ink of her mark standing out entirely too stark against the pallor of her face. I bit my lip as I saw the red line that went from beneath the middle of her lower lip, down her chin, neck, and the line of her throat. I remembered how she had screamed when the needle had been jammed into the sensitive skin again and again and again.

"Will you…will you be able…" I could not finish the question, stunned to silence as my lover smiled.

"I'll manage." Kestrel promised. "I always do, right?"

"That you do." I affirmed, fighting my body's every instinct.

I wanted nothing more than to reach out, touch her, wrap her in my arms, but I could not afford the bliss of that distraction. We were on borrowed time, as was Leliana. Over the years, the four of us had all taken risks for each other, to keep us sane, alive, and functioning as we pursued a difficult mission. It would be no different on this day. Death would take nothing from us, the four friends who had somehow, in a world of pain and panic, managed to forge themselves into a family.


	58. Chapter 58

_**Author's Note:** Hello all! I'm sorry that updates have been so sporadic. I was intending to get a chapter out every night this week, and then wound up with a virus that kept me in bed for two days. So, while that was so much fun, I'm happy to be feeling a little better and able to get a chapter out. Thank you so very much for being patient with this story, and its author, and for all of your follows, favorites, reviews, and private messages. I hope that you continued to enjoy. _

_Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Cassandra**

I stood, tension building increment by increment as I watched Kathyra do her healer's work. Poultices were applied and removed, whispers of encouragement and apology spilled from her lips as she did what I did not have the skill to do. I could rip a hole in my opponent's skin and send them beyond the Veil and into the darkness or light that awaited. I could not do as Kathyra did now, and struggle and suffer with those on the brink of death.

 _Kathyra and I both completed a Seeker's training at a much older age than most. We were not chosen as children to walk the path that we now walk. Perhaps it changed us, made us different than others of my order. We both led lives before we took on the name and mantle of the Seekers of Truth. And when we walked alone for a year, emptying ourselves of everything, I was chosen by faith. She was chosen by compassion. I wonder now what I might have become, were I touched by another spirit._

Justinia warned me once of the darker side of faith. She instructed me that faith was often seen as a radiant thing, a beacon in the sky for one to follow as they did the sun, the moon, or stars. She then told me that faith _could_ burn too bright…that it could turn into an all-consuming flame and not only destroy the soul and body of the one who bore it, but the souls of those who followed them. When she left me, I realized her words were not solely instruction, but also rebuke.

 _Could I ever have been a woman guided by compassion? Kathyra is…she is loved. She has known what it is to love, and I have not…not truly. Could it be because faith is not so easily espoused? Perhaps. I might never know._

"Thank the Maker." Kathyra whispered, looking up at me, blood smeared on her face from where she had wiped away sweat with a crimson-stained hand. "She's sleeping at last."

The physician turned her back to me and her patient and began washing her hands and face from the rigors and stains of her work. I watched her shoulders knot and loosen as she heaved a labored sigh. Fear clenched in my heart, for I could sense that something was wrong.

"Is she all right?" I asked. "Will she recover?"

"No." Kathyra muttered. "And, I am uncertain."

 _Why do you not have the answers!_

"I do not understand." I growled, pushing myself off the wall I leaned against, shaking with exhaustion and worry as I watched Kathyra seemingly give up her battle with death. "Justinia told me that you have the power in your mind and in your hands to mend the wounds and heal the sicknesses of others! How can you stand here and tell me that you are uncertain!? Is it not something that you either know or do not!?" All of my worry and fear rushed forth in my words and only after I finished speaking did I realize the wrongness of what I said.

Kathyra turned and I saw something in her eyes that I never wished to see again. A hollow emptiness that, somehow, sparked with the fires of darkness and loss and pain. I witnessed in her gaze the very essence of the spirit that had touched her, knew the reasons it had come to her, and learned, in that moment, something that the Seekers of Truth would never reveal.

 _We are told that the spirit that fills is us what we are meant to exemplify to the people around us; that it comes to us because it sees one who is strong enough, kind enough, or intelligent enough to wield it. But now, looking into Kathyra's eyes…that is not true. We are touched by the spirit that_ _ **we**_ _require the most in our own lives…why did I never realize this? When Anthony died I lost my faith and did not…did not find it again until I emptied myself of everything._

"Everything is always so very plain for you, Cassandra." she accused me, her voice low, menacing, and before me I did not see Kathyra the physician, but the woman who had been an assassin, thief, and seductress. "It is black or it is white. It is righteousness or it is sin. It is life or it is death. You have that luxury because that is what your place allows you. Do others who weave their lives in the infinitesimal shadows between the great light or great darkness a courtesy, oh powerful Right Hand, and _cease_ your questioning."

"I do not…" I snapped off the edges of my words, looking into the eyes of a woman whose life had experienced more pain than I might ever know, and humbled myself. "Please," I whispered, "tell me what you mean." I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and pinched the bridge of my nose, exhausted and worn.

Moments later, I heard the scrape of wood against wood, and felt something touch the back of my legs.

"Sit." Kathyra ordered, and I obeyed. She pressed a cup into my hands. "Drink." I did, sighing in relief as the warm, sweet tea soothed my throat. "Look at me."

I lifted my gaze and the woman of before, the woman whom I might have feared, should she act against me, had vanished. In her place stood the physician who had accompanied me on many missions, the woman I considered a friend when I did not even know what such a thing was. The woman who attempted to teach me…and whom I failed, for my ears and heart were hardened, deafened by Beatrix, the woman who wished to own me.

"Kathyra, I am…"

"Spare me your apologies." she said, but her tone held no anger. "I have no wrath against you, Cassandra." She pulled up another chair, sat down, and stared at the table where her lover lay, fighting a battle that Kathyra could not win for her. "Nothing could have been done to change the outcome of what happened, no matter what you attempt to tell yourself. You did the best you could; you did as she _told_ you to do, and I am sorry that you endured that."

"How do you know all of this?" I asked, intrigued by her knowledge of things I had not spoken of to her.

"Her body tells me the story." Kathyra sighed. "The cauterized wound, the haphazard stitches, the wounds on your face. One moment."

The physician stood and walked to one of the many shelves in the clinic, rifling about glass vials and clay pots, returning at last with a small pot with a wax seal across the top of it. She pulled her chair closer to mine and broke the wax seal, then reached into the pot and, before I could react, smeared whatever it held across the cuts on my face.

 _How is it that you can care for me, when it is my fault that the woman you love is injured and perhaps…perhaps dying? What_ _ **is**_ _the sum of compassion, for now it seems to me more powerful than all of the faith in this world._

"I'm afraid there is nothing I can do, other than give you this salve to numb the pain and reduce the swelling." she spoke, humbling me further by her caring. "The wounds will scar, Cassandra. It will be nothing you can hide from."

"My body has many other scars." I murmured.

"I know." she smiled, and I did not know how she did. "I have seen you naked more than once."

I frowned at her. "When you tended to an injury." I corrected. "Were you enumerating my scars instead of mending my wounds?"

"Maker, no." Kathyra shook her head. "But there were many scars I could not help but see. To hear Leliana tell it, scars act as a journal, written on the skin of those whose lives are meant for…meant for more difficult things and darker paths. They are things to be cherished and secrets and stories to be told to and shared with those who are deserving. I do not know if I will ever hold her same opinion, for there are scars I cherish and scars I loathe." The healer's hand strayed to her right side, just beneath her breast, pressing there as if remembering an old injury.

I reached up and touched the wound on my left cheek, which began in the center and snaked down to my jaw. "These are scars of failure." I murmured, ashamed. "I took her into danger and did not protect…"

"No." Kathyra's hand landed on my shoulder and for the first time I truly felt it, truly looked at it, seeing all the small memories, nicks and cuts that were not a warrior's scars, but a healer's. "Do not let them be that, Cassandra." I heard a calm, simple order in her voice. "Let them instead be a reminder that Leliana is much different from you, and that such a difference will be required in the roles you play. You are meant to stand for what is right and good, to be the beacon of justice, the clear line of delineation between right and wrong. Leliana is…she must be much different from you."

"I know the role of the Left Hand." I spoke, hearing the biting note in my voice that did nothing but elicit a small, knowing smile from Kathyra.

"I do not think you do." she told me, simple, blunt, as had always been her way. "Leliana will be required to do things that you despise, for they do not fit in your realm of morality. You must not only forgive that, but embrace it. For every light there is a darkness, Cassandra, and you have the easier role between the two of you. For while light is defined, by the Maker, the Chant, and the Divine, the darkness is not so easily navigated. That is Leliana's role. She must decide how far into the shadows she will plunge and, trust me, she will sink deeper into the shadows than many others, for she knows, unlike those others, how to claw her way out. And, as is the case for all who venture into the dark, even she might one day go too far, and lose herself."

"Then tell me what I must do." I asked. "As you see it."

"You are not to protect her." Kathyra looked me in the eye. "But to forgive her. Forgiveness is something that…that she does not easily offer herself. Please, Cassandra."

I shook my head. "You ask of me a difficult thing."

"I know." a soft admission. "You are not a woman prone to forgiveness. Let that change, as so many other things are changing for you."

"I will…" I breathed deep, letting her words wash over and sink into my heart and soul, "…I will try."

"That is all I ask." Kathyra offered another soft smile. "And now, all that we can do is wait, pray, and hope that Rylie has been successful."

The bleak notes of her tone struck me as a woman preparing for a sorrow she already knew. I reached out, for the first time, holding my hand out to a woman who, when we traveled together, I thought beneath me. Now, I realized that I had much to learn, and that the soft, quiet physician who had always reined me in, who had been my overseer in my days of absolute zealotry, could teach me much. Kathyra's hand rested in mine, and she lowered her head.

"I've lost a lover." she whispered, her grip on my hand tightening incrementally. "It was quick, brutal, over in a flash…nothing I could have done would have stopped it. This is…this is so different. To know that she was awake, that she felt the pain, that she _suffered_ …" a heavy, black sob wrenched out of Kathyra's mouth and the woman I had never seen cry over those she had lost bent over and wept.

She fell on her knees to the floor and I could do nothing but follow, trying as best I could to hold her, to offer her the comfort she might never have received. Never before had I felt so lost, so in need of faith. I could do nothing but hold her. And pray.


	59. Chapter 59

**Kathyra**

I felt so strange. The arms around me were warm, solid, safe…a barrier against the world and all of the evils held within it. Cassandra held me through my tears, her body a bulwark against grief, loss, and all else that might assail. The woman I knew and remembered held so little tenderness, so little understanding of the emotions inflicted by a severe, incurable case of humanity.

 _She is so changed…as are we all._

The door burst open and Cassandra and I jumped to our feet. She reached for her sword, her hand falling away when a familiar bundle of chestnut curls came into view. I barely recognized the taller, slender woman leaning on Rylie for support. Kestrel's face was obscured by dirt and grime; her clothes were ragged and torn. There were stains on the material that were not dirt…they must have come from the mage's split lip and bruised nose. With what Rylie described as happening to have Kestrel thrown into solitary confinement, there might be worse injuries beneath her clothing.

"Kathyra…" Cassandra drew my attention. I looked to her and saw abject horror stamped on her features. She pointed to Kestrel. "Her face…what…"

"Another time." I left Cassandra behind and walked to Leliana, where Rylie and Kestrel joined me.

Kestrel washed her hands, then the dirtied, bloodied mage rested on one Leliana's forehead and one on her stomach. A blue glow coalesced around Leliana's body and I gritted my teeth, waiting for what I hoped would be good news…and what I feared would not be. The glow faded and Kestrel's body tensed, her head flew back, then she slumped as in a faint, though I could hear her ragged breathing as Rylie supported her.

I moved around the table, pressing my hand to Kestrel's grimy neck, feeling her pulse flutter, watching her eyes open. She panted a few moments more, gathering her breath, then managed to stand on her own feet again.

"Forgive me." she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I am…a little…"

"Malnourished, dehydrated, and bruised to hell." Rylie murmured, wrapping an arm about Kestrel's waist, not caring that the other woman reeked of a dungeon and was covered in dirt. All that mattered was the rare chance to be close to her.

"Worry for me later, love." Kestrel whispered, looking into my eyes with her own viridian gaze. I felt a dagger pierce my heart. Those eyes should have belonged to but one person, and that woman was _not_ Kestrel Ariyah. Looking at her _hurt_. "I don't understand." were her first words to me. "Leliana's been touched by very powerful magic."

"I knew it!" Cassandra shouted from across the room. "I knew that bloody masked sailor…"

"What?" I turned, my thoughts spilling over themselves.

 _A masked sailor? Could it be…this is ridiculous, Kathyra, surely more than one person wears a mask. They can be worn for all manner of reasons, as well I know, and are coming into fashion now. Simply because Cassandra and Leliana were on board a ship with a sailor who wore a mask does not mean…Maker's blood…there are no coincidences. Every bard knows such a thing. But…but Salem Cousland has_ _ **no**_ _magic. This does not make sense!_

"There was…" Cassandra began.

"Not now, Cass." I waved her into silence, looking at the mage on whom my lover's life hinged. "Kestrel, what do you mean?"

"Kat," Kestrel seemed to be the sole person comfortable with using my nickname as her usual form of address, "you know this as well as I do, if not better. Her temperature is normal and her wound was _very_ infected when she arrived here, was it not?" I nodded. "Right, then." Kestrel muttered. "Some form of magic is holding back _illness_ , Kathyra. Healing magic cannot accomplish that!"

"That's not right." Rylie piped up, looking from me to Kestrel. "That can't happen."

 _Who knows what the living dead might accomplish,_ I thought, dark, wondering if the woman I'd spoken to in the alley more than a year past was in fact Salem Cousland, or some entity of the Fade wearing her face and her body. _But I removed her shirt. Would a demon know every scar on her body in order to replicate it? I should think such knowledge would be impossible._

"It can't, but it did." Kestrel murmured. "In any case, I do not think it will interfere with my own magic. It's a mercy the internal bleeding is as slow as it is, otherwise she…she would not be alive."

"I know." I managed to speak through my tight throat. "But," I hesitated, my physician's nature clamoring at me that this was _not_ a good idea, "Kestrel…you look terrible. Do you even have the strength to heal her?"

"I can, but I will lose consciousness the instant the spell is finished." the young woman was honest to a fault. "To avoid that, I need lyrium. I do not suppose you have any on hand."

I frowned, feeling my heart sink, even as it fluttered in my chest with anxiety and worry. Leliana _did not_ have long. Her sleep was one that she would not wake from…but Kestrel and I were the sole possessors of that information. It would take quite some time to procure black-market lyrium. Time that Leliana did not have.

"I do not." I confessed. "It will take a while to find any on the black market."

"Leliana doesn't have time." Kestrel muttered, staring down at her patient and my lover, the woman who had brought us together, whom we all cared for. "Neither do I. I need to be back in my cell as soon as I can." She looked from Leliana to me, gripping the table for support as Rylie left her side and moved to the back of the clinic. "How quickly can you bring me around?"

"Exhausted collapse is not something the body easily recovers from." I shook my head. "I do not think I could bring you out of it."

"Neither of you need worry over that." Rylie returned from wherever she had gone, holding two small vials filled with the bluish-white glow of pure lyrium. "Captain Cullen ordered me on three days furlough, and issued me these to get through. It's Chantry lyrium, so it's pure as can be." She extended the vials to Kestrel in an open palm. "Is it enough?"

Kestrel reached out, her delicate hand taking Rylie's fingers and closing them over the vials. "I will not take yours, sweet girl." her voice lowered, deepened, almost haunted with the depth of emotion therein. "I've seen templars go through lyrium withdrawal, as have you. Even a single day is misery. I cannot…I cannot sit in that fucking cell and think of you enduring that. It would kill me."

Rylie shook her head. "Kes, I will live through short time of pain. Leliana will _not_ live if you do not help her, and you won't live if I do not get you back. After all the sacrifices she has made and the risks she has taken for us, we can do this for her. I promise."

A strange mixture of anguish and joy whispered through my heart. That the two of them, who had endured the worst parts of this mission, this long-term investigation, would be willing to help Leliana, who had placed them here…it shook me in my very soul. When Giselle was killed, I thought all kind, _good_ people gone from the earth. Leliana, Kestrel, and Rylie kept proving me wrong time and again. However, Kestrel was right to be concerned. Once templars began drinking lyrium, once it became embedded in their blood, as it was in Rylie's, missing a dose wreaked havoc on the body.

 _The first day presents symptoms like that of a virulent illness. Severe muscle cramps and spasms causing immense pain, inability to keep down food and sometimes even water, and unmanageable temperature fluctuations from a burning fever to a catatonic cold. Kestrel is right to be worried. Lyrium withdrawal is brutal, and is known to drive men mad._

"Kestrel, please." I entreated, bringing my voice to the argument. "I cannot lose Leliana, but I also cannot lose you. I will make certain that Rylie is cared for."

Kestrel's lips trembled until she bit her lower one to keep it still. Her teeth cracked the scab in the center of her bottom lip and a bright bead of blood welled up. She looked to Rylie, who nodded affirmation and assent, in spite of the flash of fear I saw flit through her obsidian eyes. Kestrel heaved a sigh and looked back to me.

"She won't suffer?" Kestrel asked, and I could see into the deeper heart of her worry.

 _She is afraid that all of my attention will be focused on Leliana, and that Rylie's sacrifice and the subsequent consequences will be overlooked. I will not let that happen._

"As little as possible, I swear it." I promised.

"All right." The mage consented, and all in the room breathed a sigh of relief. "Just one, Rylie."

"No." Rylie shook her head, adamant. "You'll take both, Kestrel Ariyah, and do not _dare_ argue. You are," the young woman's eyes glimmered wet, "you're not exactly well, either. _I_ will not let you sit in that fucking cell and be in worse shape than you are now. I couldn't…couldn't bear that. Kathyra will care for me, but you have…you have no one."

Kestrel looked as though she were about to open another argument. Attempting to avoid it, I rested my hand on the woman's shoulder, unhappy when she flinched and winced at the gentle touch.

"Let reason win this day, Kestrel." I told her. "Please help Leliana, then allow me to take stock of _your_ health. You're showing signs of grave mistreatment. I should like to remedy what I can."

Kestrel nodded. She took the vials from Rylie and uncorked them, throwing them back in her mouth as one might a small glass of strong whiskey. She grimaced and leaned forward, gripping the table until her knuckles turned white. Her head drooped and I heard a low groan of very real pain pulled from her lips. Lyrium always burned going down. It burned worse when one's stomach was empty. Rylie reached out, rubbing her lover's back, attempting to soothe Kestrel as she coped with pure lyrium.

Time crawled until, at last, Kestrel raised her head. She nodded at her worried lover, who stepped back. The mage's eyes closed and the blue, liquid fire of healing flooded into her hands. I sliced through the new bandaging and pulled away the poultice I had placed there to draw out the infection. Kestrel rested her hands on the gruesome injury, pressing down on the skin, and pouring the blue fire into Leliana's body.

Kestrel's lips moved in a soundless chant as she directed the power she held, the power to stop bleeding, knit tissue, repair nerves. However, healing magic could only do so much. It accelerated the body's natural healing, using the patient's reserves of energy. The weakness of the patient determined the time required to heal, and Leliana had taken the wound days ago. Her strength would be all but gone. Kestrel's magic would save her life, but she still would face a long recovery period. I did not care. I would see to her every need for as long as it took.

Inside my mind, I prayed without ceasing, begging the Maker for further mercy. A warm, solid presence came to stand at my side and I looked up to see Cassandra. Her cinnamon eyes were burning, filled with concern. Her arms were folded across her chest in a protective stance. Somehow, I knew that Cassandra, too, prayed for Leliana's life.

A few moments later, Kestrel gasped. The magic surrounding her hands sputtered and died; her arms immediately wrapped around her stomach and she would have fallen had not Rylie caught her and helped her lie down. Cassandra snatched a pillow and blanket from one of the patient beds and ran to them, throwing the blanket over Kestrel's shivering body, tucking the pillow under her head to protect her from the hard planks of the floor.

"Kestrel!" Rylie's brogue went high, full of fear. "Kestrel!?"

"I…I'm all right, sweet girl." Kestrel murmured. "Just…burned through the lyrium…fast. Healing magic…does that."

"Even so," I spoke, moving around the table to examine her, stopping when I felt a familiar tug on my shirt.

I turned around and my heart ceased hammering against my ribs. It seemed to stop entirely. Leliana's eyes were open, clear, and, for the moment, free from pain. She still bore the pallor from massive blood loss, something that healing magic could not remedy. Though not well, she was _awake_ and the bleeding had been stopped. She would recover. She would regain her strength. She would live. Against all odds, she would live.

Abandoning everything for a moment, I scooped her up in my arms and held her close to me, feeling her chest rise and fall beneath my hands, her breath rushing across my neck, her body shivering from the cold. Tears sprang to my eyes and I let them fall as I held her, rubbing my hand up and down her back, needing to _feel_ her skin, no matter the worrisome nature of its temperature.

"I love you." I managed to whisper, kissing the shell of her ear, supporting her head in my hand, tangling my fingers in her lank, sweat soaked hair. "Welcome back, Leliana." I kissed her hair. "I love you."

"Love you…too." her voice greeted me, the most blessed sound across all of Thedas. "Please, I…I need…need to lie down."

"Of course." my wits returned to me and I helped her lie back on the table, savoring her smile when she clasped my hand in her own and squeezed it.

I looked down at her wound, seeing the bruising still splashed across her skin, purplish black and painful. The puncture itself still looked ragged and raw, but no longer did her skin have the rigidity and heat of someone bleeding into their abdomen. She would still be in pain for some time, but she would live. Nothing else but that mattered.

"Kestrel," I looked down at the young mage, meeting her bleary eyes, "thank you. Are you all right?"

"I can wait." she promised. "Make Leliana comfortable."

I squeezed my eyes shut and tears seeped from beneath my eyelids, slipping down my cheeks. My entire body shook with relief, my throat felt knotted, and I wanted nothing else but to hold Leliana in my arms and keep her warm. However, there were others in my charge. Others that I needed to look after because they were my friends, my family, and they had saved my lover's life.

"Cassandra," I called, "can you carry her to our bed?" I asked. "She…she's freezing and I am shaking too badly to carry her myself."

"Of course." the Right Hand's reply came with action.

She scooped Leliana's body up into her arms, going in the direction I pointed, to the staircase that led into our loft. I grabbed my healer's bag and followed her up, moving in front when we reached the loft, pulling down the covers and plumping the pillows. Cassandra set her on the bed, holding her up so that I could quickly bandage the wound. Then, with a care and tenderness I had never witnessed in her, Cassandra guided Leliana back onto the pillows and drew the covers over her.

My lover sighed in relief at the warmth surrounding her and opened her eyes once again. I knew she was exhausted; that she needed rest, but I could see pain blossoming in her eyes. I removed a vial of poppy syrup from my bag and sat down beside Leliana. Unable to resist, I leaned down and kissed my lover's chapped lips, lingering longer than I should have, thrilled that she responded to my kiss. When it broke, my hand cupped her cheek and our foreheads rested against each other's.

"I am going to give you something for pain." I whispered. "Then you can rest."

"I've…been…resting." she protested, but her voice sounded too weak.

"No, darling." I smoothed her hair back. "You have been fighting. You no longer need to fight, but to sleep. You lost a great deal of blood from external and internal bleeding, and your wound was very infected. Your body is so very exhausted. Please don't fight me. Please rest."

"No strength…to fight." Leliana managed a soft smile as she sunk further into the pillows. "I hurt…too much."

"I can remedy that." I promised her, opening the vial of poppy syrup and pouring three drops between her lips. "I will see you to the morning, my darling." I whispered as her eyes closed, thanking the Maker for the kindness and strength of my friends...my friends who risked their own lives for Leliana's.

"Is…"

I rose to my feet, anticipating Cassandra's question. "The worst is over." I assured her. "For Leliana. She will sleep safely for several hours. Much as I wish to stay, I have other patients now, and grateful I am for it."

I tore myself from my lover's side and made for the stairs, Cassandra following.

"You are a strange woman, Kathyra." she murmured as we re-entered the clinic proper.

"These are strange times, Cassandra." I managed to smile. "Such times call for strange women, no?"


	60. Chapter 60

**Cassandra**

There were many places and many times in my life that I found myself an outsider. In all of those places, I never desired to be part and parcel with those there. Now, however, I knew what it was to stand on the outside of somewhere that I _desired_ to be. My heart ached more with every passing moment. I stood aside, useless as Kathyra cared for the young, battered mage woman with short black hair and that…

 _…that ghastly mark_.

I was no stranger to the practice of tattooing the face of an apostate mage, a practice put in place so that the common citizen could identify a potential danger and warn the authorities. In my travels, I had seen many marked faces. The deep purple ink of Ferelden, the blue of Nevarra, the black of Antiva, the blistering white used in Orlais, and the various shades used by other cities in the Free Marches. Everywhere else, the marks were visible, but never did they cover so much space, with such an…such an obvious and glaring color.

 _Bright crimson…like a permanent wound. Around her eye, along the bridge of her nose, down her cheek, lips, and chin, and the line of her throat. Maker's breath, how painful that must have been. Beatrix never cared about a firm hand taken with the mages, but surely Justinia would not stand for this! Kathyra and Leliana have been sending regular reports…_ _ **why**_ _is this still happening!_

"How in hell did Cullen allow this!?" Rylie's Starkhaven brogue broke the quiet. "Meredith would have ordered a drink and watched with a bloody smile on her face, but Cullen's a better sort of man than that!"

"It took some time for him to arrive, Rylie." The mage, Kestrel, kept her voice calm, even though I could see the ugly blue and green bruising painting her skin…a week old…the fresh bruises must have been horrific and painful. "The bastard's friends arrived first."

Rylie spat on the ground in disgust. "Nothing is going to happen to them either. Cullen may be a better sort of man, but he's got no stones. He'll bring it to Meredith and the rancorous bitch will dismiss it. They could have broken your ribs!"

"They did." Kathyra murmured, and the Starkhaven templar's face flushed a shade of crimson I'd never before witnessed.

"I…I need to step outside for a moment." her voice emerged tight, filled with an emotion I knew all too well…the anger that burned beneath the skin until it filled every vein and slipped out from every pore. It took a strong will to be able to walk outside that door. A will that, when I was Rylie's age, I did not possess.

The door slammed with such fury that even the vials on shelves far from the entryway rattled. Kestrel looked after Rylie's departure, her eyes anguished.

"Did you have to tell her?" Kestrel asked. "What good did it do, Kat?"

"She needed to know." Kathyra replied in a no-nonsense voice I knew all too well…from the many times it had been directed at _me_. "If something happens _again_ , she will know what to look for. It could save your life. You have two broken ribs, Kestrel, and there is...there is a high chance you will be struck again. Do not even attempt to lie about it. Not to me."

The young mage looked properly abashed and…somehow familiar. In fact, both of the young women did. I wondered if we had met before, or even crossed paths briefly.

"I know." Kestrel sounded chastised, wincing every now and again as Kathyra probed her abused, mistreated body. "But I hate seeing her so furious with nothing to act on. Her hands are tied, Kat, as is everything else. We're both prisoners in the Gallows and she…she is paying for Leliana's life and my health with two days of agonizing lyrium withdrawal. This is…this is all awful."

Her head listed forward, but not in a dizzy spell. Instead, she leaned forward and Kathyra cushioned Kestrel's head with her shoulder. The physician embraced the mage, imparting strength and comfort in a silent gesture that made the entirety of my body ache for the familiarity of another's support. I averted my gaze from the tender tableau, hurting, knowing that, when I called Kathyra my friend, she was this same woman. Had I truly befriended her, listened to her, done anything but lash out in anger when she counteracted one of my decisions, or slowed me when I leapt to anger, I might know what it was to have a…

 _…a comrade? A friend? No_ , I shook my head as their embrace ended, _I might know what it is to have a sister._

My hands trembled, my throat tightened, and I thought of the world I had seen revealed in the last hours. The world of those severed from their families, from their former lives; those whose stories were tragic, painful, and brutal as my own…but risen above. Risen above by those who should have broken beneath the strain. The four women I witnessed were strong, capable, submitting to pain for the other's well-being, risking their lives so that another might live. They were strong, passionate, beautiful and…and they all belonged to each other. They belonged to each other and I belonged to nothing.

 _Had I not been so dismissive, so angry with Kathyra, so hateful towards Leliana, would I now belong to them? Or…_ old words whispered in my mind, words that I, at the time, dismissed in hatred and arrogance. _If a comrade is bruised, their leader should be bleeding. If they are bleeding, their leader should be near death. And if, by any chance, your compatriots are near death, you should lie dead before them._

I shivered at the memory of Salem Cousland staring at me with the scars in her eyes, telling me of all the ways that I had failed. Years later, under Justinia's tutelage and kindness, I discovered a truth. I discovered that those words were not the truth for all leaders…but I also realized that tears had been shed when news of Salem's death spread across Thedas. In that moment, I realized that no one would weep for me. None would shed tears for my death…not even Galyan, who had moved so far beyond the attraction of our youth.

 _Salem led in such a way that her subordinates mourned her. I thought it showed weakness for a leader to bleed…but it can be viewed as strength. All four of these women possess that strength. All four of them have given something to the other, for another. Never before did I know that if all people gave all of themselves at every moment, then no one would lack for anything. Just as now, the three of them have taken on the burden of Leliana's injuries, lessening the pain as they divide it amongst themselves._

I made a decision. Within my heart, I established a resolve. If these four could open their hearts, I would do whatever it might take to become part of this…this family. There was a gift I could give, so easily done for me, but perhaps impossible for them. I moved closer, listening to the mage hiss as Kathyra rubbed a strong smelling salve into Kestrel's dark bruises.

"No." I heard Kestrel say. "I do not know how much longer they will keep me in solitary confinement. Aside from the discomfort in my ribs and the lack of food and water, it is not so dreadful as one might think."

"Attempt to convince Rylie of that." Kathyra replied, a knowing smile on her face.

Kestrel chuckled. "My gregarious lover...she would not last a day." The mage's face fell and worry burrowed into her eyes. "Kathyra, tell me, and be honest…there is a former templar in this city known as Samson. I've heard the templars talking about him. He's a wretched creature who lives on the streets of Darktown and will do anything, commit atrocious acts even, for a sip of lyrium. They say his madness set in on this third day without the damnable stuff. It has been years since he was a templar and he is still slave to his addiction. Will that happen to Rylie? Will she suffer so much that it breaks her mind?"

Tears were in the mage's eyes and her voice trembled with worry, shaking me to my core. Seekers did not drink lyrium. I had always known that breaking oneself of lyrium dependence could destroy the mind and body, but I did not know that the onset could happen so soon. I knew Rylie had taken quite the risk when she gave up her lyrium…but now I knew that she did so, knowing full well that she might lose the soundness of her mind.

 _I will not let that happen._

"No." I spoke in lieu of Kathyra. "No, Rylie will not suffer. Every Chantry has a small lyrium stockpile for the templars assigned there. I will go and speak to Grand Cleric Elthina. She knows my face and she will honor my request. Rylie will not go through the horror of withdrawal, Kestrel." It hurt me to look at the young woman's face, covered by that horrible crimson tattoo…but I did…and I remembered.

 _The mission to search for the rogue mages and their island hideaway. Kestrel and Rylie were on board…new templars under Sergeant Alan's command. I believed the approaching ship to be friendly, but they came alongside and attacked us. An abomination was present, oozing its way from the enemy ship to ours…Rylie attempted to strike it down and it launched a powerful counter attack. The young woman nearly died…she would have if Leliana had not rebelled against me. Oh Maker…the women before me…I have hurt and harmed each and every one of them._

"Consider it…" I heaved a sigh of remorse and prayed that the younger woman could see the anguish in my eyes, for it bled in my heart. "…Consider it my poor attempt to make restitution for the day my pride almost cost Rylie her life."

Kestrel's eyes burned, but not with hatred, not with malice, not with a grudge held. They burned with gratitude and peace and relief. Her entire body appeared to be shaking…no. She _did_ shake. Tears fell loose from her eyes and crashed to the floor. She reached out and took my hand…the feel of her skin surprised me. Instead of the soft hands most mages possessed, Kestrel's palms were callused and dry, her grasp strong and firm in spite of her thin, delicate fingers.

"Thank you, Cassandra." she whispered. "Thank you so very, very much."

I looked to Kathyra. "Will this jeopardize your mission here in any capacity?" I asked, and she shook her head. "Then I shall take my leave and return as soon as I may."

"Maker go with you, Cass." Kathyra murmured.

"Thank you." Kestrel whispered again, expressing her gratitude to me, for the smallest of things, in the manner one might be grateful for a castle made of gold. "I can never repay you."

"You owe me no debt, Kestrel." I said, before remembering something that I at last realized made _no_ sense, for it was simply _impossible…_ "Save to, one day, tell me how a mage ever became a templar."

"You have my word." Kestrel offered me a wan smile and I left the clinic.

 _I can give them this. I can help in some small way…help lessen the pain from the sacrifices they have made…allow Kathyra to devote her time to Leliana, instead of attempting to keep a brave young woman from losing her mind to the violence of lyrium of withdrawal. Still, the lives they return to will not be easy._

 _Maker, give them strength and…and if you will answer the selfish prayer of a repentant woman…let them see their way clear to open their hearts. Allow me to be one of them, to find a place within their family. I want what they have, dear Maker, not to take it or to break it apart…all I want is to be one numbered among them. All I want is…is a family._


	61. Chapter 61

**Kathyra**

All was quiet. I stood on the flat roof of the clinic, looking up to the constellations above, breathing easy at last…laughing at myself for doing so. Much happened in the shadows of Kirkwall; the darkness that remained hidden during the time of the sun emerged to wreak havoc when the moon rose. No matter the internal chaos, nighttime would always be peaceful, at least to me. However, more than the night brought me peace.

I knew now, moreso than before, that the Maker watched over us in a very absolute sense. Rylie returned from the Gallows with the report that she and Kestrel had not been discovered, nor did she hear any outcry over an escaped mage. Most of the escapees from the Kirkwall Circle did not fare so well. They were tracked, hunted down, and killed. Once, they might have been brought in, judged, and sentenced either to death or to the Rite of Tranquility. Now, after Leandra Hawke's murder at the hands of a deranged blood-mage, and after many mages of the Circle escaped during the qunari attack, Meredith passed but one sentence upon an escapee.

Death.

Cassandra's errand to the Chantry had gone well, and spared Rylie the horrific agony of lyrium withdrawal. I still did not understand why Justinia's own right hand had been moved to do such a thing, but what shocked me further was her apology to Kestrel for what she would have done all those years ago, had Leliana not rendered her unconscious. I still shuddered when I remembered that voyage, the intimate knowledge that I was dying and, every time I closed my eyes, seeing the ghosts and moments of the past parading before me in an unstoppable wave of the brutal and the beautiful.

On a normal night, looking to the stars chased those memories away. Tonight, however, it did not. The stars simply reminded me of the light in Leliana's eyes that, on board that dreadful ship, I had fallen into as though they were my own sky. I had fallen in love with a married woman; given my heart to another whose heart was already claimed…claimed by the most worthy of suitors.

"I thought I might find you here." Cassandra's accent carried to my ears through the crisp night air.

"Exhausted all other options, did you?" I asked, turning and smiling at her, sitting on the edge of the wall and indicating with a tilt of my head that she was welcome to join me.

"I did search everywhere but your room." Cassandra sat down beside me, her knees popped, and she winced. "I did not feel it would be wise to wake Leliana just yet."

I shrugged. "Less unwise and more kind than anything, Cassandra." I smiled at her, then sobered. "I never did thank you properly." My throat constricted. "I…I love Leliana very dearly, Cassandra. You saved her life and I am…I am in your debt."

The Seeker's proud, aristocratic features fell and her face assumed an expression of humility…a vulnerability that rendered her beautiful beyond the power of descriptors. "You owe me nothing, Kathyra." she whispered. "I did so very little to help her and…and had it not been for that apostate sailor then…then Leliana might not be alive."

My brow creased and I gave voice to my inquiries, now that I possessed time to do so. "This is the second time you have mentioned this sailor, Cassandra. What did she do that left such a profound impact on you?"

"She appeared the moment I prayed for aid." Cassandra answered. "She carried Leliana to the ship and…and worked some sort of magic on the belligerent first mate, who acted as though he would physically throw an injured woman from his cabin. Then, there is the matter of what Kestrel spoke of. The infection held at bay with magic. No one on the journey home touched Leliana but me, and the sailor who carried her."

"That you saw." I corrected, gentle, and she nodded.

"Yes."

My curiosity piqued. "Cassandra…this sailor. Was she tall and broad shouldered, with short, earth-brown hair heavily marked with silver? Did she wear a black mask just beneath her eyes, concealing everything but her vision?"

Cassandra's brows furrowed and her eyes narrowed, as though she suspected that I led her somewhere. "Yes." she admitted after a moment. "Why? Do you…do you know something?"

"Perhaps." I allowed. "Did you see the woman's eyes?" Cassandra shook her head in the negative, and I sighed, for now I could not be certain. "Alas, I might be wrong."

"Kathyra," Cassandra angled her body further towards me, interested, "why do you mention the eyes? She…she did not let me see them, but when the first mate stormed into the room and began shouting, she did nothing but turn, grasp his shirt, and stare at him. He…he went pale. His hands trembled…"

"He looked as though he had seen all the horrors his life comprised in a single flash." I finished, and Cassandra stared at me, bewildered.

"How did you know to speak the words inside my mind?" she demanded, though not harsh.

"Because I looked into those eyes." I answered, and Cassandra's countenance flared. "And when I did, I relived every nightmare that my life had known, in a flash, as if I were dying. The beatings. The rape. Los…losing Giselle." I stumbled over the words. "All of that I witnessed before…before at last seeing eyes that personified _hell_ itself. And," I spoke now through tears, "and even so shaken and disturbed, I could not hate their owner."

"How could you not?" Cassandra asked. "With such vicious magic used against you…how could you not?"

"Because her body held two arrows that would have pierced Leliana." I answered, and Cassandra went silent. "When the qunari attacked, Leliana and I were in the midst of the fray, protecting as many as we could. A fallen guardsman required my assistance. I went to him and then a squad of qunari entered the street. Leliana and the other guardsmen attempted to hold them off, but the one with the bow was far enough back…he fired two arrows. I knew I was going to watch Leliana die when, out of nowhere, a masked woman appeared, wrapped Leliana in her arms, and shielded her."

"You…you believe this same woman to be the sailor?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes." I nodded. "And it was not magic in her eyes, Cassandra. It was no spell. It was an old scar that is now…now a gaping wound. The sailor could have been none other than Salem Cousland."

"You are wrong." Cassandra protested, sputtering in shock. "You have been _deceived_ , Kathyra. I stood…I stood beside Beatrix when Leliana, with tears in her eyes, spoke of Salem's death. I saw so much grief on her face that I felt pity stir in my soul for the first time in _years_. What you speak of is an _impossibility_!"

"Is it?" I asked, rising to my feet, turning, and looking down upon the city streets. "Have we not, both of us, seen much in our time that defies the explanations of the rational? It was _her_ , Cassandra."

"No." She shook her head, still defiant. "I will say many things about Salem Cousland, but one thing I will _not_ say is that she was a liar. The woman did not know deceit, Kathyra, I could see that even when I despised her. She would not have lied to Leliana about her death."

"I agree with you. Which leads you to what conclusion?"

"That she is _dead._ " Cassandra insisted. "If the Maker wished the dead to live again, then…then Andraste would have been brought back to Thedas."

"And again, I agree." I stated. "But there _are_ other gods than the Maker, Cassandra." She glared at me as if I had sprouted a second head. I laughed. "Put your sword down, Seeker." I chided, playful. "I did not say I followed these gods, but you are twice the fool if you do not acknowledge that there are powers in the world other than our Maker. I may not serve them, but I will not doubt their existence. Whatever the case, Salem Cousland is _alive_ , Cassandra."

"I will struggle with my belief of that another time." Cassandra spat, shaking her head. "Assuming you are correct… _why_ are you telling me this? What purpose could it possibly serve to…wait…does…does Leliana know?"

"No." I shook my head. "Salem begged me not to tell her."

"Why did you listen?" Cassandra demanded, her tone forming the hard edge that reminded me far too much of the woman Beatrix had made her. "For one who loved as _they_ loved, it would be murder for Salem to hide away from Leliana. She wouldn't. Therefore, it stands to reason that _you_ are lying, Kathyra. Salem would not ask that of you in a thousand ages. Are you keeping this information secret on some pretense so that you can remain with Leliana?"

I struggled with the fury that threatened to consume me and, through gritted teeth, I spoke. "Tread carefully, Cassandra, for I am _done_ with being found the villain. It _slaughters_ me every day that I know this secret and _cannot_ tell Leliana. Believe what you may, Leliana has been _chosen_ by the Maker for a singular, fantastic purpose that I cannot even comprehend. Salem spoke to me of this herself…if Leliana were to know that Salem lived again, and that the god that she loves allowed the _other half_ _of her soul_ to perish when she might have been saved…"

"Even my faith would die." Cassandra broke my words, inserting her own, speaking the truth. "Kathyra, I am…" she met my gaze, "…I apologize. I spoke in…I spoke in disbelief, cynicism, and anger. Please forgive me."

"You are forgiven." I muttered, drawing a deep breath into my lungs, attempting to find my scattered wits. "It is a difficult belief to hold…"

"But it would explain all that transpired." Cassandra murmured. "The sailor's care for Leliana. Her refusal to meet my gaze. Her voice, which was cracked and broken with disuse. And she…in the height of the season, wore long sleeves and gloves. They must have served the same purpose as her mask…to conceal the distinctive scarring." I nodded my agreement and Cassandra's head snapped up, her eyes blazing into mine. " _Why_ are you telling me this, Kathyra? What need have I to know?"

I sighed and struggled to align my thoughts, to speak of a difficult matter with a woman that I trusted, whom I had believed in even when she was a whirlwind of anger and purposefully misguided power.

"There is a change coming, Cassandra." I lowered my voice and she drew closer. "I can feel it…I can feel it in my bones, in the wind. I am seeing shadows in the dark, hearing the voices of those long gone. The entire world has been set over some mystical cooking fire and the heat is intensifying. I saw you looking at the brutal apostate's mark on Kestrel's face. I saw the horror in your eyes. I sense it, Cassandra…soon that same horror will paint the world."

"What are you saying?" Cassandra asked as I began pacing the rooftop, planning my words with great care, so that they would remain within her mind.

"I _know_ how much you and Leliana care for and respect Divine Justinia." my voice hardened, taking on its own edge. "But I knew her when she was Dorothea, Revered Mother of the Chantry in Val Royeaux. I have never lied to you, Cassandra, and I do not lie now, when I tell you that she is a snake and a better player of that infernal Game than my sister, Marjolaine. Marjolaine dethroned _kings_ , Cassandra. With her plotting, conniving mind, Justinia could dethrone a _god_." I raised my hands when Cassandra's lips parted in protest. "I do not say that she seeks to do so. I simply say that Justinia has an image of the world, and it is an image that cannot be created without a crucible of fire hotter than those of natural make. Why else were we not recalled when Beatrix perished? Why is Leliana, now Justinia's Left Hand, still here?"

"Explain." Cassandra's single word was made of ice.

"Beatrix disguised Leliana as a Seeker after Salem's death. Leliana selected myself, Kestrel, and Rylie to work with her. We were sent to investigate the rumors of Kirkwall's Circle, to assess its brutality; to ascertain if the nightmarish stories coming from this city had merit. Through all of our reports, Beatrix's mandates remained the same. Stay. Watch. Report. Nothing changed. We may never know what _she_ wanted, but I can see what Justinia wants, the reason she keeps us here and, Cassandra," I rested my hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes down to mine, "it makes me _tremble_."

"What do you believe she wants?" Cassandra asked, her voice rough and taut with worry.

"To set Thedas on _fire_." I hissed. "Kirkwall is the crucible in which this world will _burn_ , Cassandra, and Justinia wants those she can trust present to make sure the casualties are not too great. I know these maneuvers; I have _seen_ this play. Leliana is…Maker bless her, she believes when Justinia speaks of healing the wounds of the world but Leliana is not a physician. Neither are you. You cannot see these things as I can. Thedas is not a bleeding wound but a closed one, rife with infection. The scab must be ripped away, and we are standing inside the heart of the laceration. When this happens…I trust Salem Cousland to be near, to protect Leliana's person. But, I ask as one who loves her…Cassandra, I _beg_ you…please protect her heart."

Cassandra's body was a study in emotion. Her eyes held comprehension, her shoulders apprehension, her hands held wrath and her neck bore the stubborn will that had carried her through life. After a long moment of deep breathing, she looked up, and I saw torment and confusion in her gaze. I knew that, when Cassandra returned to Val Royeaux, she and Justinia would speak…and Cassandra might learn an unfortunate truth. That she was still a pawn in a greater Game. The sole changed thing was that a kinder player wielded her.

"Kathyra, why do you ask me to take the place in which you now stand? Why would you ask me to protect Leliana's heart when that is…when that is where you belong?"

"When I spoke of hearing voices in the shadows, Cassandra, I did not speak in metaphor." Tears filled my eyes and I saw fear in Cassandra's gaze. "I am being called by a voice so familiar and sweet that I will not resist. I do not know when...when my Giselle will come for me, but I do know that, when the world begins to burn, I will not be here for Leliana. I ask you, Cassandra, as someone that I can trust, as my _friend_ …be there for her when I can no longer."

Cassandra's lips trembled and her whiskey eyes were darker than the night sky as she stared at me for a long moment. "You would trust me with what is most dear to you?" she asked.

"I already have." I whispered, more tears falling from my eyes, chilling my cheeks as the soft night breeze blew against them. "All I need now, all I pray for now, is your word."

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, holding them closed for a long moment. When they opened again, I knew that, whatever my future might hold, what I cared for most was safe.

"You have it, Kathyra." she promised. "I will do all I can."

On impulse, I wrapped my arms around the Seeker and held her tight. I knew that she could feel me trembling, and did not care. I needed her to know how very vulnerable I was in this moment. I needed her to know so that she would understand...

…b _ut she will not. Not fully. Not until the approaching day that I feel in my spirit, like a warrior whose once-broken bone hurts when the storms come, arrives at last. She will, however, honor her word. Because of that, I need no longer fear the day that Giselle and I shall be reunited. Neither, however, shall I attempt to hasten it._


	62. Chapter 62

**Leliana**

I woke to the sound of voices in the city streets and the light of the midday sun shining through the window. I kept my eyes closed, lost in another place and time…the time I must have visited in dreaming, for I could have sworn I heard morning birdsong when I came into consciousness. However, the birds in Kirkwall did not sing. This city was filled with the screeching of gulls in the harbor, but no gentle twittering to hail the rising of the sun, nothing to gentle the dread that oft times came with the awareness of a new day to be experienced. One of the many things I missed about living in Ferelden was hearing the birds…for shortly after they woke me, I would feel a conflagration at my back, strong arms wrapping around me, and a tender kiss placed on my neck and my shoulder.

Now, I most often woke alone, for Kathyra insisted on rising before the sun itself, and no amount of teasing or promising could break her of the habit. However, I did have enough presence of mind to realize that this was no normal morning. I remembered the last day in patches, brief moments of pain, hushed and worried words, a protest, a kiss, and then sound slumber. At last, I reconciled myself to being awake and opened my eyes, taking in the comfort of the simple loft that was not home, but was familiar, and a place where love resided.

I saw no sign of Kathyra, save for that the clothes she wore to sleep were folded and set neatly on her pillow. A soft rustle caught my attention and I looked. Sitting near the window, on my side of the bed, was Cassandra. All of the age and the trials of the last few days were gone from her face as her eyes moved back and forth, devouring the book that she held. A smile spread across my lips as I saw that the book capturing her attention was none other than Hard in Hightown, a novel written by Varric Tethras, a well-known merchant and a companion of the Champion. I remained silent, content to watch the play of emotion across the Seeker's oft-stern features as she journeyed through the tale of fiction.

At one point, her lips parted in shock and the turning of pages became faster as she raced to uncover more information about whatever had been revealed. The few moments I spent watching her revealed to me of her character much more than I had learned, even during our journey together. While I had no doubt that the woman herself was tempered steel, that she could be moved to awe, shock, sorrow, and joy by words written on a page…perhaps we had more in common than ever either of us would have believed. Whatever the case, and no matter the past, the irrefutable truth was that I owed Cassandra Pentaghast my life.

"A riveting tale, no?" I broke the silence, laughing when the book fell from Cassandra's hands and she stood up, pressing herself into the wall as if I held her at sword point. I regretted my laughter as dull pain gnawed at my insides, but pain was temporary and transient…a lesson it had taken me many years to learn.

 _From such a kind teacher…_ I remembered silver-blue, laughing eyes, a sense of humor darker than the pits of night, the tenderness that a warrior alone could exemplify. _Salem taught me to understand that pain need not govern a life…something that I did not know, for I had let mine rule me, even in the quiet of the Lothering Chantry. When she willingly, and with grace, endured what any other would have sacrificed someone else to, in order to spare themselves, I realized that she held a truth that I would do well to learn._

"I apologize for frightening you." I said after a moment, when it became clear that Cassandra could not find words. "I did not realize that the voices of the invalid were so startling."

Her expressive brows furrowed, her lips thinned, and a disgusted noise echoed through the loft. "You did not startle me, Leliana, you simply…"

"Caught the great Cassandra Pentaghast indulging a little-known vice?" I asked, smiling wider as her dusky cheeks flushed crimson. "There are worse authors to read, Cassandra. At least Tethras' fiction is well-regarded, even in academic circles."

"Now, you mock me." Cassandra claimed, nudging the fallen book out of the way with the toe of her boot as if it was a venomous adder. "It is sensationalist drek, over-romanticized and rife with ridiculous hyperbole."

"Then it certainly has no place in a life so regulated and measured as your own." I teased her, enjoying the spark that kindled in her warm whiskey eyes.

"You are an impossible thing, Leliana Cousland." She muttered, shaking her head and re-taking her seat. She lifted the book from the floor and placed it on the table next to the bed, heaving a sigh that told me that our conversation might venture to a place not so lighthearted. "How are you feeling?"

Her question held true concern, but further validated my belief. "As though the threshold of death is many years away." I replied. "Pain is a creature who screams that you live. While no cause for celebration, it is certainly nothing that I will regret enduring. Thank you, Cassandra. You saved my life, and I am…I am grateful."

"I did nothing but show you my weaknesses and failures. My heart raced and my hands trembled and I was...I was _afraid._ " Cassandra shook her head, a mantle of guilt settling across her. "You saved yourself, Leliana."

"I did nothing of the sort. I answered questions, but I did not even have the strength to raise my hands." I shook my head. "And you are wearing entirely too much shame for someone who did nothing wrong."

"We were attacked, Leliana." Cassandra gritted her teeth. "I did not hear the assailant; I did not react quickly enough; I did…"

"Nothing. Wrong." I insisted, remembering arguments of this same nature with Salem. "We were exhausted, Cassandra, our alertness wrecked by the brawl and the subsequent…"

"Yet another failure." Cassandra interrupted with a mutter. "I struggle to be in the same room as the injured. It brings back…"

"So many painful memories." I wished that Cassandra might come closer, so that I might offer the comfort of a friend's touch. "Where blood and injuries are concerned, we both have our demons. Cassandra, I…I share your aversion, even your fear. I simply have greater experience with moving through that particular fear and using it to spur action...that is my gift. Are not our separate gifts the reason why Justinia asked us to stand at her side? So that our strengths might complement the other's weaknesses?"

Cassandra sighed. "There are days I do not comprehend why Justinia kept me as her right hand when I know that, from the beginning, she meant to make you her left." she confided. "I would think she would choose another, especially given our…our sordid history."

"Ah." I began to sense the reason behind Cassandra's turn for the serious and morose. "Cassandra, what is it that troubles you?"

The Seeker looked at me, her whiskey eyes flaring with pain. "I failed you then and I failed you now." she answered. "Did I do anything during our ill-fated journey to Ostwick that would show you that I have changed from the woman who dragged you from your wife, who allowed mind-magic to be used on you, who threatened you for spearing the wounded? Or did I simply prove, once again, that I am unworthy of standing alongside a woman such as you?"

I snorted and shook my head. "You truly are ridiculous." I informed her. "We have learned different wisdom at different times, but I can assure you, Cassandra Pentaghast, that I once was a woman who…who was not worth the effort it would take to kill me. I have done reprehensible things, and…and things so very far _beyond_ the reprehensible. No matter the missteps you have taken, Cassandra, you have always _tried_ to do what was right. That in itself make you ten times the woman I could ever be."

She studied me for a long moment, as if looking for any evidence of falsehoods. I let my words stand without addition or explanation, awaiting her response and, I hoped, her belief.

"Do you not let your past burden you?" Cassandra asked.

"I have done my utmost to let it instruct me." I replied, hoping that I did not sound filled with pride, but humbled by what life, years, pain, and love had taught me. "And there will always be grief and always remembrance, but I feel there is no need for guilt if I keep working every day to save more lives than I have destroyed."

"That is…an exquisitely simple rationale." Cassandra smiled, and I believed I might have reached her.

"That is what I believe." I nodded. "It is what keeps me sane."

 _But, at the close of it, it is nothing but an ideal. Cassandra is a woman to whom actions speak so much more than words, for action is the validation and enacting of an ideal. There is something I must do, something that I must make **clear** to her so that we can assume our roles in the future without old grievances holding us back. _

"Cassandra, please come closer." I asked.

The Seeker rose from her chair and came to stand beside the bed. Even though her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, even though she was so pale with weariness that her stitched wounds appeared fresh, her energy remained warm and stolid, a shield against the evils of the world. All those years ago, when Cassandra and I had been different women, Kathyra consistently attempted to mediate between us, to help us see through the other's eyes. Both of us were guilty of recalcitrance. The reluctance to deepen our connection no longer existed within me. I reached up and took her hand in my own, feeling the calluses and seeing the small scars that bespoke the entirety of her person. She was devoted to her calling, as I was to mine. In that, we could stand together, and forget the past.

"There is much unsaid between us." I spoke to her and looked into her eyes, "However, I do not believe that speaking those unsaid things will do either of us any good. Our past is written in stone, but it need not define our future. For all that I have done wrong, I beg your forgiveness. And, for all that it is worth, I forgive you."

She said nothing, but her countenance changed, lightening. The heavy mantle of guilt departed her shoulders and she squeezed my hand, then released it. "It is worth everything, Leliana." she confided.

"From this day forward, let us have nothing but a future, working together. Helping one another. Keeping each other strong." If I could set aside Salem's ring, as I had set aside her love in my heart, then I could erase from my mind the grief and anger at the Cassandra Pentaghast who had been used by Beatrix as surely as I had been used by Marjolaine. "Do we have an accord?"

Once again, we clasped hands, marking a covenant between the both of us, signifying the change we chose to make. I could have harbored resentment against her and she might have continued to believe of me what once she did. However, both Cassandra and I realized that the world was changing, and that we possessed the chance to aid the woman whose vision we believed in. The mother that both of us had been denied. I felt better, safer, knowing that I would face that world and its trials and tribulations with an ally in Cassandra Pentaghast. I believed, and hoped, that she felt the same.


	63. Chapter 63

_**Author's Note:**_ _WHEW! That was one hell of a long story arc. Thank you all so much for continuing to read and bearing with me. I kept trying to bring it to a close and my recalcitrant characters kept having more to say. However, with this chapter, the current arc is being brought to a close. Once again, I cannot thank you enough for your readership, follows, favorites, and especially reviews. I hope you all continue to enjoy as I end this arc, and progress to the next._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Salem**

 _There is so much that I want to say to you as time passes and marches on, my dearest Leliana. Your eyes have always been capable of seeing what most of the world remains blind to. That is your gift and your curse. I say curse because those eyes saw something in me that you found worthy of clinging to. There are many days that I wish you had not done so. There are many days that I wish you had fled my side during the Blight and not looked back; days when my thoughts drift to the what might have been. Had we not loved, would the Maker have stirred from silence? Had we not loved, would I have perished atop Fort Drakon?_

 _These words seem so fatalistic, even within the confines of my mind. I feel that I betray my own heart when I think of such things, for I still love you as recklessly and deeply as ever I have. I despise myself for looking back on the times filled with the radiance, purity, and terror of that love and our life together and wondering if this world might be better had it not existed? However, I cannot help but feel that those thoughts are very, in their innateness and essence, human. Did you not always ask for me to be more human? To show the pain that lived inside my spirit and shone out in my eyes? To let myself break and falter and trust another's strength to carry me? Did I ever learn that lesson, Leliana? Did I ever learn to let the mask and darkness fall away?_

 _I pray you remember me as once I was, and not as I am now. A haunted, hollow creature who lives in the dark, masked, gloved, hiding anything and everything that risks revealing my identity. I wonder if I continue to do such a thing with purpose; if Kathyra broke her promise to me and told you that I now live again. I do not believe that she would, for I saw the pain in her step as she walked away from me. I know that pain all too well…the agony of concealing a matter from one who deserves to know, and who will hurt more when the final revelation does come. Revelations and resolve._

 _I find that resolve weakening with every month that passes. My dreams are filled with old and cruel memories…and night terrors of events more recent and, somehow, more cruel. I dream of holding you on board that ship, hearing the rasping of your breath, feeling your hair dampened by fever-sweat. I held you in the dark like some criminal afraid of their actions. My one crime is that a god saw fit to drag me out of the depths of eternity. My one crime is that my heart and mind were restored and that the love of you is stamped on them as indelibly as my scars are stamped onto my skin._

 _I live every day with a question on my lips. I ask if I will break my promise, first to myself and then to the Maker. I ask if I will one day walk out from the shadows of this Maker-damned city and reveal myself to you. Every time I see you now, there is more pain and more suffering. Suffering because I know that, if I go far from you again, I will find myself tormented anew by vengeance taken upon_ _ **you**_ _, and you do not deserve to pay for my actions. I love you too much to subject you to that._

 _A heartbroken, arrogant part of my soul once claimed that I would survive every breaking of my heart, for I have grown accustomed to it. I now think that those words were yet another lie to lull myself into belief. The weight of my broken heart is heavier than it has ever been. I am losing my grip on the idea of mercy, for this world holds so precious little of it for me. Each day it seems that I witness more lovers in the streets, singing their affections in the movements of their bodies. I can see joy in their eyes and bliss in their smiles and utter contentment in the small touches they visit upon the other. I long for that contact like a man in the desert longs for water. I long for a former life that I cannot venture to again. I long for the paradise that I knew in death, and for the home that I was building for when you joined me in eternity._

 _It was so peaceful there, Leliana. It was all that we dreamed of when we were alive. A world of quiet, of peace, where demands were not made and pressures not applied. There was no name or rank or reputation. We were all just souls who had suffered, or lived well, or…or done nothing of any note. We were equals in all ways, for death is the one thing that all men will know. There existed no pride, no scorn, no dark emotions that make the living of life a misery and bring harm to others. We were free. Pure and free to be human and ourselves. It was this peace that was taken, taken and replaced by standing in the cold and the rain and looking at you, seeing your happiness._

 _Maker, I hope you are happy. That is all that I have ever wanted, and if you have found it then I wish you nothing else. I do not want any of the darkness that haunted our lives together to be present for you now. That is the reason I remain hidden. That is the reason that when I awaken and realize that I am myself again…my heart breaks. I do not know if I have a heart any longer, Leliana. I hope and I pray that such a thing is not true, but there is an ache in my chest where something once_ _ **lived**_ _and there is no breath in it any longer. I am afraid, dear heart. I am afraid that…_

* * *

I stilled my hand, watching a blot of ink soak into the parchment, obscuring the words that I wrote. I did not know why I continued this letter, adding pages to it over the months as though I might one day send it. I had not needed to write aboard the ship, for I had not been haunted on the open sea by the constant sight and knowledge of the woman I loved and could not see. Now, however, since I did not dare leave her vicinity, for _her_ sake, I began writing the letter again.

 _What is the point of it, though?_ I asked myself. _I have no vow to anything in this lifetime, save the vow to myself to never reveal myself to her. Why am I putting that at risk by penning this letter?_

I stared at the sheaf of pages that did not unburden me, nor make my load any easier to carry. I stared at the words that were my history and my emotions spelled out and made present. Once, I had been a woman who kept those emotions penned within myself, scarring my heart in my silence, being brave and good and kind and gentle and merciful for the world and burning alive from within. Something had changed in the darkness of death and a life given me again. Something that made it impossible for me to internalize my pain. Something that made it necessary for me to dip a quill into my veins and write down the aching of my heart to the one person who would care, if she knew. She could not know.

I set down my quill and lifted the heavy sheaf of parchment. I tied the pages together with a length of rough twine and stared at the fire. It leapt in the hearth, all oranges and yellows and reds…destruction that somehow provided comfort. Firelight could be dangerous. I knew this, for my heart had cracked beneath it. In the darkness of many nights, illuminated by the camp fire, Leliana and I had laid bare each other's souls and become…become the love that woke the Maker. Those days were ended. By her own admission, Leliana had set me aside in her heart. I struggled with those words each and every day, but I would not begrudge her saying them. She knew me to be dead. I would do my utmost to stay that way.

I pushed myself to my feet and I walked to the fire, staring at the heavy bundle of parchment, a letter written in love and in desperation, a letter written to cling to scraps of a past that did not exist and hope for a future that could not be. Leliana accepted that long ago. Dead or not, I knew that I needed to do the same. She was my last love. That would never be false. No matter where my life led, I would never be able to love another…but the love of her did not need to kill me.

I took the letter and set it in the heart of the flames with slow, deliberate movement. The scent of scorched ink flashed into the room and I allowed tears to slip from my eyes as I watched the parchment burn. The fire consuming it would die; the fire consuming me would not. However, I could let it smolder to embers, if only not to lose my entire heart to bitterness. Leliana could not save me now. Even the Maker could not save me now. I would have to save myself and…and I had forgotten how.

I stared down at my wedding ring, the silver nightingale, the symbol of love and oaths made that I could not rid myself of unless I cut off that finger. I would never do that. It meant too much. I needed it too much. I needed the memory of love to sustain me so that I could discover whether or not that memory was _enough_. I prayed it was.

"Forgive me, Leliana." I whispered to the woman I would never see, whom the letter I wrote would never reach, "I must try…I must try to set you aside in my heart."

 _But I will never stop loving you. The sun must fall from the sky and consume the earth for that to happen. I must simply…change. For the heart that loves you so is too weak to face this cruel world without you…I must discover who I am again._ Old words came to me, darker words that once peeled from my lips as a call to war and a charge into battle.

"Forward, into dark eternity." I muttered, soft.

The rest of the night I sat before the fire in Merrill's small home, watching dreams reduced to ashes.


	64. Chapter 64

**9:37 DRAGON AGE  
**

 **ONE AND A HALF YEARS LATER**

 **Salem**

The door opened with an unnatural whirlwind. I looked up from my seat by the hearth fire, somewhat accustomed to these bombastic entrances by the woman who shared her home with me. For as shy and diminutive as the elven mage could be, in her anger she was fury personified, a beautiful storm of lightning, thunder, and all things that made the heart tremble.

 _She wishes to be the one who makes_ _ **your**_ _heart tremble,_ my mind spoke to me, reminding me of the expression I had witnessed in her bold, bright green eyes on more than one occasion. _Those days are long gone…my heart trembles for nothing now._

The mage entered her home, slamming the door behind her with naught but a flick of her fingers. Her lithe, wiry frame created a taut silhouette. I could see the tension screaming in her body, and knew that something had gone very, very wrong. I did not need to ask though. She would tell me soon enough. Instead, I walked to the shelves near the hearth and took down a bottle of wine. In the still, frigid tension I removed the cork and poured two cups full of the rich, fragrant alcohol. I took one cup and returned to my seat, leaving the other on the table.

A few moments later, Merrill cast her staff down by her bed, stalked to the table, lifted the cup and drained the wine in one gulp. I waited, patient, sipping my drink as she poured herself another. She lifted it to her lips, then stopped, as if thinking better of becoming drunk on wine. I was grateful, for her sake. It did not take much to intoxicate the mage, and I had no wish to fend off her drunken advances yet again. Today had been a peaceful day, and I wished it to remain so.

Merrill collapsed into the chair beside the table and buried her head in her hands. Her hair hung in front of her face, shielding her expression, but I felt that, could I see her countenance, I would find it creased with worry and with anger. Even so, I did not break the silence. Merrill would speak to me when she wanted to do so, or she would not. The choice would remain hers.

"Salem, I'm afraid." she whispered at last, bringing me into her emotions, allowing me entrance into this moment of her life.

"What happened?" I asked, gentle, having learned that patience, while not one of Merrill's own virtues, was the one that aided in the loosening of her tongue and the unburdening of her soul.

"Hawke and 'Bela had a fight." she confided and I understood her pain. The elf held her few friends very close, and any friction between them left the poor woman distraught and afraid. They were her clan now…she had already lost one. The threat of losing her second was devastating even in conception. "And it's Anders' fault."

"Oh?" I asked, becoming interested. Merrill and Anders had never seen eye to eye, which surprised me not in the least, as I remembered the recalcitrant, arrogant mage from Vigil's Keep all too well. "What did he do?"

"He…he asked for Hawke's help to gather some…some material or other." Merrill's tone heated and her eyes flashed. "Micah said that she would, but 'Bela refused to come along. Micah asked why, and 'Bela wouldn't say…not in front of anyone else, but Hawke wouldn't let them speak in private. Just kept shouting, wondering why 'Bela didn't support her decisions but wouldn't give reasons…it brought up the past and…and I am afraid, Salem. Micah and Isabela are…they rip each other apart, but they are the only two who can put each other back together." she shook her head. "I'm not making any sense."

"You are making perfect sense." I assured her, taking a sip of wine and staring into the fire. "There are many loves that seem, from the outside, destructive in nature. There were days…days before I learned how to properly love that I and my lover, then wife, tore each other to shreds. No one is innocent of that."

"But there are some who walk away and don't…don't come back." Merrill's voice grew smaller with her worry. "Micah left. She's never walked away from Isabela before, Salem." the elf explained. "'Bela is always the one who runs and this is different and it…it terrifies me. But I understand 'Bela's refusal. I did not want Hawke to help him either."

"No?" I leaned forward, becoming more interested. There was more in Merrill's tone than her typical frustration with Anders and his doings. "What is it that Anders is doing that has you and Isabela so concerned?"

Merrill rose from her chair and walked to the bureau beside her bed. She opened one of the drawers and withdrew two pieces of parchment. She walked to me and held them out. I made certain that our hands did not touch as I took them from her. The last time that happened I had…I had been forced to hurt the kind woman's heart, something that I did not wish to do again.

 _There seem to be none in this world who understand the concept of a last love,_ I thought. _I want nothing of that sort any longer. There will always be women that I find beautiful, kind, virtuous, but there is no place in my heart where love might awaken for them. I have set aside all carnal desires, for what joy would I glean from them, if not committed with the one who still holds my heart? I have learned to live without you, Leliana, but I will never learn, nor to desire, to love another._

It did not take long for me to read the papers that Merrill gave me. Both were inscribed by the same hand. The first one, older by the looks of the ink and the paper, spoke of an idealistic world, of mages spearheading an effort to find a common ground with the Chantry and the templar order. It spoke of calm and reason, and made several logical arguments for the removal of the institution of the Circles of Magi.

The second, written in the same hand, was a call to arms, speaking of violence and bloodshed and rising up against the hatred and tyranny of the oppressors. It spoke of Andraste throwing off the shackles of the Tevinter Imperium and leading her people to a new world. A world made new for all but the mages, who had been in shackles since that day. It spoke of undoing that world...our world. My stomach turned as I read the words full of vitriol and vengeance.

"It is Anders' new manifesto." Merrill spoke as I frowned. "It seems he pens a new one each month or so, and they are becoming more and more violent and revolutionary. Micah does not wish to see it…how she has remained friends with him all these years is something I will never know but…but I am worried."

"Did Isabela tell you why she would not join Micah and Anders?" I asked, wondering if the pirate captain knew something about the mysterious substance that Anders required aid to gather.

Merrill nodded and I saw fear spark in her wide, luminescent green eyes. "She did." the elf admitted. "She said that once, when she worked on a ship, before she became a captain, they were carrying a cargo of this same stuff. 'Bela…'Bela told me that the ship _exploded_ one night. Half of the crew died."

I sat up in my chair, wondering if I needed to run out into the night and settle an old score with the man who had merged with a spirit of Justice. A man who had held a sword to my throat and told me that I was the height of immorality and that, should we meet again, he would drain my blood and use it to water the ground.

"But I…" Merrill sighed, "…I've seen Marethari use it too. It has some sort of medicinal purpose, and Anders _is_ a healer."

"That he is." I murmured, reaching up and soothing the ache of a small, half-circle scar, earned when a dragon had slammed me against a wall and cracked my skull. Anders' magic had spared my life that night.

"I do not know what to do." Merrill lamented, throwing both manifestos into the fire and watching them burn to nothing but one man's ideals.

 _One man's ideals can poison the world,_ I thought of Loghain Mac Tir. _But another man's ideals can save it. Without my father's wisdom guiding me, I never would have been able to see the Blight through to its end. I would never have learned how to love Leliana._

"What do you believe you should do?" I questioned her, wondering if, like so many, she possessed the answers already within herself, but could not see her way clear to them.

"I want to believe in Hawke." the mage confided. "But everyone makes mistakes…even the Champion of Kirkwall. I do not have enough evidence to…to do anything."

I got to my feet and walked to the flames, standing beside her, offering all that I could give to anyone…my friendship. "If that is how you feel, then it is best that you wait and see where this ends." I advised. "I have found, often, that if a man has evil intent, there is nothing that can be done to stop it."

"Do you believe Anders to be an evil man?" Merrill asked, looking up at me with wide eyes, avoiding my direct gaze…something she had never done until her Keeper, Marethari, sacrificed herself for the woman once her First.

"I believe him to be misguided, driven by a passion and a spirit that even he does not comprehend." I answered. "As for evil…that remains to be seen."

"I'm afraid." Merrill confessed, and her small body shivered as if from a sudden chill.

I stepped closer to her, opening my arms. She flung herself into my offered embrace, resting her head on my chest, allowing the tension, struggle, and emotion of the day to fly free from her body and mind. I closed my eyes and sighed. It felt good to hold the weight of another person in my arms, to feel the blood thrumming through their veins and the steady pound of their heartbeat. It felt right…but that was the extent of it. I possessed no wish to prolong the embrace; had no desire for our touch to progress any further.

 _I am grown numb in these years,_ I judged myself. _But it is a necessity and it is nothing that I regret. My heart is no longer broken, but I knew from the first I woke into a life I did not want, that my heart would never be whole again._

"You should rest." I advised Merrill, gently extricating my body from her grasp. "There is nothing to be done but wait, and trust that the love between Isabela and Hawke will keep them bound together. These are things you _can_ do. What you cannot do is stay awake all the night and lose sleep, wondering about and worrying over what cannot be predicted. Sleep, Merrill, and I will guard your slumber."

She said nothing, but walked to her bed, removing her boots and her clothing and slipping beneath the covers without a word. In the quiet, she lifted the bed sheets, offering me a place underneath them, beside her. I shook my head. No.

Merrill deserved to have someone share her bed who would greet her with open arms, affection, love, and pleasure. Yes, I had all the knowledge and the ability to make her writhe beneath me, scream my name, shout in the ecstasy of physical fulfillment…but her heart would have no place to rest afterwards. I could not be that cruel. My heart was not yet _that_ numb.

My heart and my thoughts droned a warning as I banked the fire, listening to Merrill's soft snores.

 _Not yet…_


	65. Chapter 65

**Kestrel**

The sky was dark, the sun not yet on the horizon, when the ground trembled beneath my feet. I looked to Bethany Hawke, watching confusion swirl in her eyes as surely as it did in mine. The door to our room was locked; the mages were released in the Gallows after the sun rose, not a moment before. I pressed my ear to the door and she joined me, listening to the shouts and the cries, the running of feet and the clanking of steel. A ripple of shouts echoed, beginning at a distance until cogent sentences were screamed by those near us.

"A cloud of smoke in the city!" A templar called, near enough to hear. "The Chantry spire is gone from the horizon! All templars to arms! _Now!_ "

Blood drained from Bethany's face and my heart went cold. "That was Cullen's voice." she whispered and I nodded. "Do you think…who would have attacked the Chantry?"

"That is not the important question." The words were out of my mouth before I knew to speak them. My mind whirled, prioritizing the situation, fighting down the worry that spiked there for Rylie, Leliana, and Kathyra. I could not think of them in this moment. "The important thing is that, in this city, the chances are high that the Chantry was attacked by a mage."

Bethany nodded, her hands clenching into fists. No matter the power we wielded, we were hampered by the locked door and the small window through which we could see nothing but the light of day and dark of night. Words gnawed in the back of my mind. Important words. Words that I remembered Leliana saying to me…why could I not find them!? Where had they gone…

The sounds of shouted orders grew louder, more running footfalls and the clash of steel as the chaos outside of our doors became harsher, swirling around with a palpable aura. I could sense Bethany's fear, and the fear emanating from every locked door within this wing of the Gallows…and all other wings.

"The Right of Annulment." The words came to me at last and I ran to the single storage chest, opening it and throwing on a loose shirt, trousers, and my boots, not bothering with the ornate mage's robe usually worn over them to indicate rank and magical specialization. No one had need of knowing those things, and I could move faster without the robes hampering me.

"Kestrel, what are you talking about?" Bethany asked, reacting slowly when I pulled her clothing from the other side of the wooden chest and threw it at her in silent order to dress. "What is this Right of Annulment?"

"During the Blight, when the warden went to the Calenhad Circle," I rambled as I finished dressing and reached deep into the chest, removing a false bottom I had painstakingly built and withdrawing two small, vital pieces of metal, "the mages there had broken out in revolt led by one who had become an abomination. The Knight Commander sent to the Denerim Chantry for the Right of Annulment."

Bethany began throwing her clothes on, preparing for whatever might next transpire, doing the bloodline of the city's Champion more than proud. "Is this anything like the Rite of Tranquility?" she asked, her brow creasing as I knelt in front of the door.

"Worse." I muttered, my hands beginning to shake as I heard more orders shouted, more chaos, and as the scent of smoke wafted to my nose. "It is the right to, without discrimination, kill all mages within a Circle, regardless of their personal crimes. If the Chantry has fallen, Meredith will seize control of this moment just as she seized control of the city when the viscount was murdered."

"No." Bethany hissed. "She cannot be allowed to do so again. What do we do?"

I pursed my lips and worked the lockpicks, grateful that I had kept them, over a year and a half ago, when Rylie had smuggled me out of and back into solitary confinement. Rylie…I knew that she would do the right thing. I knew that, if Meredith declared the Right of Annulment, which she most certainly had, whether or not what transpired at the Chantry was spearheaded by a mage, Rylie would fight against the injustice. Surrounded by her fellow, dogmatic templars, I did not have much hope for my lover.

 _But Rylie is armed and skilled with the sword. There are those here who_ _ **cannot**_ _protect themselves, and it is they that I must help before this entire world erupts in flames and goes mad._

"I have no stake in this fight." I growled as I felt the lock give. I held still for a moment, then worked the tools incrementally until I heard the bolt slide back. "But I will be _damned_ if I let the innocent suffer and be burned alive."

"I'm with you." Bethany nodded. "But we have no staffs. No weapons. They are kept under armed guard and you _know_ that Meredith will have them destroyed right away."

"It's a fool that believes a mage requires a staff to cast their magic." I growled. "Unfortunately, most of these templars have been lulled into that surety, due to the scheming of Orsino. He and Meredith both want this moment, for very, very different reasons. I, for one, will let those in power fight it out between themselves. It is not about the winning, but the rescue. The innocent die for the guilty all too often."

I whispered a prayer and flung open the door. The stench of smoke grew louder and I ran into the courtyard, where all the wings of the Gallows converged. Squads of templars ran everywhere, brandishing their swords, carrying torches and jars of oil…

 _Maker's blood!_

They were setting fire to the residential wings of the Gallows. The Right of Annulment had indeed been enacted, and the mages were to be burned alive behind locked doors. Most mages did not learn to focus their magic without a runed staff as a conduit for their power. They would not think to blast the locks with magic from their bare hands…if there were any that could. The First Enchanter himself, perhaps. A mage's staff controlled raw power and gave it focus. A staff also identified one as a mage. Bethany had carried one as a weapon, but she had not trained with it exclusively. Neither had I. We could wield our magics with our hands alone.

"Set fire to the east wing!" I heard a templar scream.

"No!" I shouted. I turned to Bethany. "Free _everyone_ in this wing." I ordered her. "The…the children are in the east wing."

"They wouldn't!" Bethany exclaimed, though she turned, preparing to run down the hall and free the mages who were now screaming and beating themselves upon the door, struggling to escape. "Not the magelets!" She used our name for the mage children, our students, our little brothers and sisters...those who had done no wrong.

"Go!" I shouted, running across the open courtyard, hoping that, in the chaos, I would not be noticed. My luck did not hold.

"There!" I heard a cry.

I slammed to a stop, turning behind me to see a sword coming down, ready to cleave me in two. I pushed all of my rage into my hand and lifted it, spearing a spike of ice through the templar's gorget and into his throat. His motion stopped but I did not wait for him to die. I couldn't. Already I heard the splash of oil in the east wing.

Meredith had given the order, and the Right of Annulment meant that everyone, even the innocent children who had not asked to be born, much less for a curse to be stamped in their blood, must die. All around me echoed screams and cries; I heard lightning flashing, flares of sparks that could only be battle spells. I ran up the stairs to the east wing as two templars ran out of it, one prepared to throw down his torch.

I grabbed one by the back of his cuirass, using our positions on the stairs to overbalance and throw him down to the ground. The torch-bearer turned to me and, instead of dropping his implement, he swung the flame at me in lieu of a weapon. I dodged the first blow, not expecting him to be agile enough to follow with a kick. The armored tip of his boot, grazed beneath my right eye. Pain exploded as I felt skin tear and blood sheet down it. The boot continued moving, making contact at last with my brow.

I fell to the ground, watching blood drip from my face onto the stone. My vision was terribly blurred in my right eye. All of the shouting became muffled and the stairs seemed to swirl around me. Nausea gripped my chest and the stench of smoke and blood, combined with the pulsing pain in my face, made my throat tighten and pull uncomfortably. I struggled to get my arms beneath me, but could not seem to find the strength in my disoriented state. Above me rang a sadist's mocking laugh.

I watched the torch fall from his hand. The oil he had splashed across the floor ignited.

 _No!_ I shrieked in my thoughts. _I will_ _ **not**_ _let the magelets perish!_ _ **Not this day!**_

Strength surged through me and I pushed myself to my feet. The templar, driven mad with power and the sickness of his own mind, stared at the burning hallway and continued to laugh. Without thought, I set my hand aflame. I gripped his beard in one hand and pulled him to me, shoving my burning hand into his open mouth. He gagged and screamed as the flames around my skin glowed white hot, melting the insides of his mouth. His teeth fell from liquefying gums and clattered onto the stone. I watched his eyes become glassy, then melt as the inside of his skull caught fire. I kicked him away from me in disgust, staring into the hall of flames, hearing the high pitched screams of the innocent children.

 _This isn't their war!_ I grieved in my wrath and resolved that, by my hand or another's, Knight Commander Meredith _would_ die this day. I glanced back to the battlefield, but I did not see Rylie among the templars that fought. I did not have the power to put the fire out...even I would require a staff to focus a spell that large. But I had no choice in this matter. I could not walk away.

"Forgive me, sweet girl." I whispered.

I focused on the cold of ice, the depth of winter, willing frost to come and wrap itself about my body like a cloak. I shivered beneath the frigidity of my own spell, thickening the ice layer by layer until I could endure it no more. I prayed it would be enough, but I gave up any expectations of survival as I ran into the burning hall.


	66. Chapter 66

**Leliana**

"What in hell, Kathyra!" I shouted, staring at the woman I loved, expecting her stony face to change with the heat in my tone. She remained the same.

"You know your calling as I know mine, Leliana." she continued tucking rolls of bandaging and poultices into her physician's bag, testing the edges of her healer's knives with the pad of her thumb.

Her calm infuriated me. Outside of the clinic, the world had gone mad. The shaking of the earth had jolted Kirkwall into awareness. I could smell the fear in the air, the acrid scent of long awaited madness and destruction claiming its quarry. This city had been preyed upon for years, and now the teeth of the predator gnashed and gnawed and we were caught within its grasp. I had no choice but to fight…and I wanted Kathyra to fight at my side. We were meant to face this together.

"Why are you packing then?" I demanded as I settled my quiver on my back, notching the strap to where I could reach the arrows with ease and alacrity. "The people of this city know that you are a healer. They will bring the injured here. You can answer your calling _here_."

"No I cannot." her tone remained impassive and the fury in my heart twisted and spiraled into a worry that I could not calm, no matter my understanding of the situation.

"Yes…"

" _Leliana_ ," she spoke my name with a harshness that I did not often witness in her. I knew somehow that the woman speaking to me was not the physician, not the bard, but the _Seeker_. "There is something I do not believe you understand. What makes Cassandra different from you and I?"

"The fact that she is the right hand and I am the left?" I asked, bewildered by her veering away from the topic of our argument. "The fact that she fights with a sword and shield, while I wield a dagger and bow? That my accent is Orlesian and hers is from Maker knows where? What answer are you looking for, Kathyra? I do not know so you must _tell me_!"

Kathyra heaved a sigh, the look on her face and the clamor outside making me tremble. This was not the way we were. We did not speak harsh words to each other. Our voices did not rise. I did not understand why her logic seemed to have disappeared inside the chaos.

"When this happened before, when the qunari attacked, what did we do?" she asked me and I wanted to tear my hair out in frustration.

"We fought." I growled out the words. "We ran through the streets and we fought and we protected the city. We saved lives."

"How did we fight, Leliana?" Kathyra asked another question, leading me towards some end that I did not have _time_ to attempt to comprehend.

 _Damn her spirit of compassion and the gentle lead to a difficult truth! If you must tell me something simply_ _ **tell me!**_

"Does it matter!?" I shouted as a long, terrified scream rang out in the streets. "Hearing that, does this conversation even matter!"

"It damn well does!" Kathyra raised her voice for the first time, the edge of it harder than the coldest of steel. "We ran through the alleyways, shooting from the shadows, sneaking and gutting our enemies in the back like the bards we were!"

"Why are you lecturing me on tactics, Kathyra!" I threw up my hands in frustration, hands that yearned to grab my bow and race into the streets, but I could _not_. Not with my _lover_ intent on taking the most _insane_ action she had ever taken.

"Because today is _different_." She insisted, the same cold edge in her tone, but the volume low, pleading. She tried to make me understand but she would not tell me _what_ to understand. "Today is different in a way that…what is happening now is not something that has ever happened before, Leliana. Surely you can feel it. Surely you can grasp the vivid energy in the air and _know_ that this chaos is not chaos and fear but _madness_ personified!"

"What are you getting at!?" I yelled at my lover, impatient, worried, on the edge of surrendering my sanity. But I would not cave. If she would not go with me then she should stay _here_ where she could _help_ and where she would be _safe_.

"What made Salem different from you, Leliana!?" Kathyra shouted, using Salem's name…something that she so rarely did. We did not speak of Salem and Giselle. We savored and rejoiced in the love that we had, not referencing those who held our souls because we _knew_ and kept our silence in a tacit agreement with one another. Kathyra pressed forward. "When she heard the screams, when she felt the earth shake, _what did Salem_ _ **do**_?"

My hands clenched into fists. Had I not been wearing leather gloves, my nails would have bitten into my flesh until my palms bled. I did not know why Kathyra mentioned Salem, why she brought her into this devastating _mess_ between the two of us. But my lover wanted an answer, and she would garner one if only to see this stupid dialogue _ended_.

"She ran towards it, Kathyra." I hissed. "She ran towards disaster by the most direct route and every time she did so she almost _died_. We fight from the shadows because that is how we have been _trained_. That is who we _are_."

"That. Is. Who. I. _Was_." Kathyra stated every word with an iron authority that made her a force to be reckoned with. She spoke to me now with the voice that had battled Death itself…and emerged victorious more often than not. "I cannot hide in the shadows, Leliana. I cannot sneak through the streets. Not _this_ day. I am going to the Chantry because there are those who might be _alive_ and there are no Salems and no Cassandras to run _towards_ the center of the terror. This is my calling, my love, and I will be _damned_ if I flee from it, or allow another to steer me down a different path."

Her words struck me with the force of a hammer blow. I could see the conviction shining in her eyes, the beautiful spirit of compassion that inhabited her, that drove her to take a warrior's stance against the whirlwind of uncertainty beyond our doors. I loved her and she was beautiful and she was fierce and she was so very precious to me and I did not…I did not…

"I cannot go with you, Kathyra." I played my last card in this game of Wicked Grace. "I cannot go with you and I cannot protect you and I am _frightened_ for, as you said, this is something we have not yet faced."

"I know." Kathyra smiled. "I know, and that is all right. Your path leads you to the Gallows. We both know that, with the force of that explosion, without the qunari and their gaatlock here, magic _was_ at work. Meredith will be enacting the Right of Annulment and you _must_ get Rylie and Kestrel out of there and protect the innocent. That is what we do, my love. You must protect and I _must_ heal. There are those who live, my darling. And no one will run to them to save them. No one but me. Please understand. Please."

I did not understand. I did not understand why she would not go with me, fight with me as she had all these years we had been together. We were each other's protection from the darkness of the world. We were each other's sanity in a world losing its mind. We were each other's strength and passion and healing. I needed her. I wanted her to be safe above all else but I…I could not keep her safe. I could not dissuade her from her calling and from the spirit within her, amplified by a touch of something pure and good beyond the Veil. I wanted to. I wanted to stand before her and be her shield so that she could save and…

 _Maker's breath…_ the realization shook me to my very soul. _…this is…these are the thoughts that tormented Salem. This is the resolve that saw her body sliced and torn by swords and arrows and magic. She wanted to…she wanted to protect everyone that she loved and therefore…therefore she ran into the epicenter of the explosion. All the times I screamed at her to be human, to recognize her weakness…how did I never realize that the same protective instinct lay within me?_

 _Perhaps,_ my mind taunted me, _it is because you never had anything to protect after Salem died. Until Kathyra. Kestrel. Rylie. These three dear women…my family. I want to keep them safe._

"I cannot dissuade you?" I asked, pleading with Kathyra with all that I had, my tone, my eyes, my entreating hands.

"Not this time, love." she whispered, throwing her pack across her shoulder, stringing her bow, and sheathing her dagger. "Go to the Gallows. Help the innocent. I will tend to the wounded who are abandoned by those who are afraid. I will not be afraid."

She moved towards the door and I grasped her arm so tightly that she would bruise. I knew I could not persuade her to do anything other than what she intended, but that could not calm the worry in my heart that translated to anger. She needed to know. I would tell her.

"If something happens to you, Kathyra, I will _never_ forgive you." I seethed, knowing that my words dripped with acid and wrath.

My gentle, beautiful physician did nothing but smile. She turned in my grip, laced her hand behind my neck and pulled me forward into a soft, sweet, chaste kiss. Kathyra withdrew, her green eyes glimmering with hope and with…with absolute…

"I love you too." she murmured.

With those words, that declaration of love, she turned and rushed out of the door, fighting the flood of people who raced into Lowtown, fleeing the fires that burned in the streets and the explosion that had shaken the earth…the Chantry that had been destroyed. I gripped the Cousland bow in my hands and followed Kathyra out of the door, wanting to run with her to Hightown…but she was right. Our paths this day did not align.

I turned with the crowd and raced to the docks. The sooner I reached the Gallows, saved my family, and helped stop the madness, I could return and protect Kathyra. In my heart, I cursed.

 _Damn you, Salem Cousland._ I swore in anger at the dead. _Damn you for opening my heart to love once more! Damn you for, from the grave, causing me this pain!  
_


	67. Chapter 67

**Rylie**

Chaos had a smell. Smoke. It was colored in shades of red, orange, yellow, and white. It had a spirit…absolute dread. I ran through the Gallows in nothing but my shirt, trousers, and boots; for the fighting had broken out before I could don my armor. While I regretted lacking the protection, I did not care otherwise. I was not here to carry out Meredith's execution order. I was here to do what templars _swore_ before the Maker to do. Protect the mages.

Meredith had twisted that edict, screaming with vitriol and conviction that we had to protect the mages from _themselves_. I did not believe that. I _couldn't_ believe that, for one person was as much prey to temptation as another. It mattered not one whit to me that a mage's temptation stemmed from the Fade, for there were mages who were better souls than every damned templar in this forsaken place, including myself. One such mage was the woman I loved…I could not find her anywhere.

 _Kestrel, where in the bloody hell_ _ **are**_ _you!?_

The sound of screams filled the air, pained and panicked. The glint of steel flashed like lightning, distracting me as I ran through the maelstrom of madness. Everything: the sounds, sights, smells, and emotions reminded me of the damn ship where an abomination's spell almost cut me in half. No one but a fool would believe that the templars and their Right of Annulment would quell this mess before a mage became prey to a demon of the Fade. At the end of the day, there would be too much blood shed…and a mass grave.

"Sergeant Camerloch!" I heard a somewhat familiar voice screaming my name from the south residential wing. "Sergeant Camerloch!" The cry rang again and I recognized it now; it was Bethany Hawke, Kestrel's friend and sister to the city's Champion.

I ran through the clouds of thick, cloying smoke, up the stairs to the entry of the wing. My footprints were red and wet with the blood that had been shed already. The moment I reached the younger Hawke, I found a fallen templar's knife at my throat. I froze in place, lifting my hands into the air, fingers splayed, hoping that whoever held that blade knew I meant them no harm.

"Rowan, _stop!_ " Bethany ordered.

Her hand flashed out, the knife vanished, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Another hand grasped my shoulder, a touch I was familiar with. I looked up into the terrified eyes of the gentle mage, feeling my heart twist into knots. She would know where Kestrel was. She would tell me. I would not want to hear it.

"What are you doing, Bethany!?" The man named Rowan screamed at her. "Are you trying to get us all killed!? She's a fucking templar!"

"She is our _best hope!_ " Bethany defended me, speaking above the din of battle and slaughter. The mage turned her attention back to me. "Kestrel went to save the magelets. They set…" she could not finish the sentence. I did not need her to. My heart thundered in my chest, for I had seen the flames consuming the east wing. Now, I wanted nothing more than to run, to find Kestrel. I could not, however. My name had been called by those who required aid.

"What do you need?" I asked, grinding my teeth as I watched flames leap from the roof of the east wing. It would collapse soon.

 _Is she still inside, or did she manage to get the children out safely? Maker, it feels as though you have abandoned us. If that is in any way untrue, please keep Kestrel safe. I cannot leave her here…and I cannot live without her._

"We need our staffs." Bethany's voice broke through the haze of my thoughts. "We do not know where they are kept, but we do know that they are under guard. I am not asking for a weapon so that I might kill, Sergeant Camerloch, but for a weapon to defend myself, and heal the injured."

Behind Bethany stood the mages who resided in the south wing. To a man, they glared at me with fiery eyes. I knew that they wanted vengeance. They wanted blood. They wanted me on the ground, in pain, suffering…dying. It did not matter that I had never acted towards them as my fellow templars had; that I had attempted to protect them as often as possible. It did not matter that I had never raised a blade against them in fear or hatred. All that mattered, at day's end, was that I wore the armor and carried the sword of the templar order.

"Rylie." Bethany's voice, her use of my first name, broke into my thoughts once more. "Please."

I struggled with even the simple entreaty. All I could think of was my Kestrel, my mystic bliss, charred in the flames of the east wing. She had run into the inferno without her staff and its ability to amplify and focus her magic. She and Bethany were cut from the same cloth. They went where they were needed, no matter the fear or the risk. I could not help Kestrel in this moment, but I could help the other mages fight for their own lives…a right the Maker gave to all men and women, no matter _what_ Meredith and her ilk believed.

"I will get you into the armory." I promised Bethany. "Stay close to one another, follow me, and do _not_ stray from the path I lead you down."

A low murmur of dissent spread through the group of mages, beginning with Rowan, who still gripped a fallen templar's knife in his hand. It did not matter that he did not know how to wield it. What mattered was that he had armed himself and was prepared to kill. I wanted to feel angry, but I could not be. Not after years of bearing witness to Meredith making the mage's chains heavier and heavier.

"I will stake my life on Sergeant Camerloch's word!" Bethany yelled over the crowd. "If she goes back on her word, which she will _not_ , then lay the blame at my feet and let _my_ life be forfeit!"

The younger Hawke's faith in me shook me to my core. Even through the years, Bethany and I had not interacted often. We exchanged greetings and occasionally indulged in short conversations…but that alone did not explain her trust in me. Perhaps she believed my word because of Kestrel.

 _Or, perhaps she believes in and trusts me because, when Meredith ordered that correspondence between the Hawke sisters be confiscated, I would pilfer the letters and deliver them to Bethany in secret. I would also ensure that her letters reached Micah Hawke. It is often the small favors we do and the small kindnesses we show that earn trust and respect in the eyes of others._

As her words sunk in, the other mages seemed to change. The glimmering hatred in their eyes, directed towards me, did not abate, but I could see that, as much as these mages despised me, they trusted Bethany Hawke. It made a great deal of sense. Micah Hawke was Kirkwall's Champion. Bethany could, with ease and accuracy, be considered the Champion of the Gallows. No further protestations occurred, and the mages made themselves ready.

"We must move swiftly!" I called. "I will do what I can, but I am one woman and _one_ sword! Protect yourselves and each other as best you can, and I will do all that is in my power to defend you!"

I turned, sickened by the leaping flames, the stench of blood, and the sound of screams. I wanted to find Knight Commander Meredith and wring her neck. No matter what the Chant of Light said, I _knew_ in the depths of my _soul_ that Andraste and the Maker never imagined, nor would they ever allow, this literal _hell_. I wanted to find Kestrel, hold her close to me, feel her heartbeat, measure the rise and fall of her chest. If Meredith had taken that from me, I would forget that mercy even existed.

Breathing deep, I began running towards the main hall of the Gallows, where the dining hall, infirmary, Chantry, armory, templar barracks, and the Knight Commander's residence and office were located. The clash of swords, the clanging of shields, and the shrieks of the wounded were unbearable to hear. I wanted to block them out; they reminded me too much of that damn ship…the thick, ugly scar across my chest was burning with a pain so wretched I felt as if I had just taken the wound.

Five templars were stationed at the doors to the main hall. I recognized two of them immediately. They were Meredith's sycophant guard dogs, obsequious women who allowed, and _welcomed_ , the ability to enact their hatred on those with no power to defend themselves. They were women who would just as soon put a sword through a mage's gut as they would look at them. When it came time to mark an apostate, or enact the Rite of Tranquility, these two were the first to lift their hand, raise their voice, and volunteer.

I remembered the chilling zealotry in their eyes when they held Kestrel down and scarred her beautiful features with ink, acid, and venom. Meredith had chosen her guards for this place wisely. No mages would be permitted past them. They would die first…slow, eviscerating deaths. These women, templar lieutenants, savored torture in a manner almost sexual. It disgusted me.

 _Why would the Maker empower such bitter and brutal minds while imprisoning those with good hearts like Kestrel and Bethany? Leliana was right in what she said when she recruited us for this mission. This world is damaged, perhaps beyond repair. It will take an even harsher breaking to begin to repair it._

"Wait here." I ordered the mages, unwilling to risk them to these savage animals.

The five to one odds and my lack of armor did not bode well, but the mages were even more defenseless than I. I held a weapon, and, I hoped, the element of surprise. These women were only inventive, creative, and intelligent when it came to torture. Perhaps that is why Meredith was able to indoctrinate them with such ease. Between the two of them, they had not a single original thought.

"She's going to turn against us!" One of the mages, surprisingly not Rowan, hissed.

Bethany rounded on them and growled something that I could not hear. It did not matter. What mattered was that the voice of doubt was silenced before they could spread their fear to the others and leave me wedged between two enemies. I strode up the stairs to the entrance, attempting to ignore the roaring furnace that blazed across my chest, centered in my scar.

As a child in Starkhaven, I revered the templars. I was in awe of the silver sheen of their armor; enamored of the blue-enameled emblem of the flaming sword. They were, in my young eyes, a force that protected us from powers beyond our comprehension. They possessed that understanding, and used it to defend the defenseless. I wanted to have that understanding.

I wanted to protect, to defend, to stand tall with the precious few who dedicated their lives to a calling of such importance. The moment I came of age, I went to the Chantry and requested enlistment in the order. I could have trained in Starkhaven, but I declined, instead sailing to Val Royeaux to be taught by the best instructors, those directly beneath the purveyance of the Sunburst Throne. My faith, my belief in my destiny had never been more validated than on _that_ day, when Divine Beatrix herself addressed the new recruits.

Now, that faith no longer existed. Meredith and Kirkwall had choked it out of me, bit by bit. Seeing a _good_ woman, my lover, beaten and tormented and poisoned for no reason other than the magic in her blood drove me further and further away from the belief of the child I had been. I despised this place, and these people. Especially the two harpies from hell who watched me approach, and bore witness to the group of mages behind me.

"Look what the dogs dragged in." One of them, Lieutenant Averyn Blaylan, sneered. "Sergeant Rylie Camerloch and her herd of sheep. At last seeing the truth of things, mage-fucker?" She upbraided me with what she thought to be an insult, for it was no secret that I had interrupted several templars tormenting the defenseless, and beaten them bloody for it. "Did you finally see that they're nothing but animals to be put down? Because that is all these _things_ ," she spat at the mages, "are. Cattle."

"Too weak-stomached to handle this yourself?" the other, Lieutenant Cherin Rast, questioned. "Do not think to make us do the work, Camerloch. I see you have a clean blade. I order you to get it dirty. Do your duty under the Right of Annulment, and slaughter them." Her cruel green eyes pierced through the mages. "Kill the pretty one with black hair, sergeant." She pointed to Bethany. "Prove you're not a Maker-damned mage-fucker."

"That will not be happening." I told them, waiting for the retaliation.

"Did you not hear me, mage-fucker!?" Blaylan shrieked. "Get! Your! Sword! Wet!"

My hand tightened around the hilt of my blade until every muscle and tendon _screamed_. I wanted to be a child again. I wanted to _believe_. I wanted, with a desperation unmatched, for my faith in my order to be proven…to see a templar of rank _deserve_ that rank. To see a templar of rank question this order of _butchery_. However, the woman in me knew that the child's faith would soon perish. These horrid excuses for humanity would not change. My faith would not be restored.

"Aye, Lieutenant." I whispered, low, giving up all hope in the life I wanted to live. The ideals I held dear and the truths I believed in did not exist any longer.

 _Maker, please, forgive me._ I prayed, even though I felt that I would be forgiven, without the asking. These women were a blight upon the land. They did not deserve to draw breath, let alone command men and women.

It was easier to move without the encumbrance of heavy plate armor. It was easy to whip my sword up and shove the blade into Blaylan's sneering mouth, rip it out through her cheek and skull, and slash Rast across the throat in a single blow. Their blood sprayed across my face; I could taste copper, salt, darkness, and lyrium. The two sadistic wastes of life crumpled to the ground, their blood pooling on the stone and dripping down the stairs.

The three templar privates paled and gazed at me in shock. They were not prepared to cope with a templar willing to slaughter their own. I was not prepared to look in the mirror, to face my reflection…a woman who once wanted nothing but to serve and who turned her back on that service with a fountain of blood.

"Get the bloody _fuck_ away from that door." I growled at them, praying that they would listen, for I could see the youth in their faces and the terror in their eyes. In their gaze, I stood as an abomination.

One by one, they slunk away from the door and into the fray. My heart _hurt_ as it never had before. Once, I had been like them. Now, they would never be the same. They would never know the confidence that they, and I, once had in the templar order. This day shattered that confidence. My actions shattered that confidence. I had broken them, and myself.

However, I continued moving, knowing that to stand still would be to welcome death, and that _could not_ happen. No matter what I felt for and about the templar order, no matter how I had changed within my own sight and heart, my life still knew reason and purpose. The sooner I retrieved the mages' weapons, the sooner I could search for Kestrel.

 _She finds trouble everywhere she walks…she found me, after all. For better or worse, we belong to each other now. Please, Kestrel, I am_ _ **begging**_ _you. For once, for_ _ **me**_ _, go against everything that you are and every instinct you have and be_ _ **safe.**_

I moved faster, breaking out into a run as I led the mages to the armory. My heart sank further and faster with every step, for I knew the truth. I knew Kestrel, and Kestrel's truth. She wouldn't be safe.


	68. Chapter 68

**Kestrel**

 _Keep moving, keep focused, do not close your eyes. Keep moving, keep focused, do not close your eyes. Ice. Winter. Frost glimmering on the ground. The white shroud of snowfall. The frozen surface of a lake._

I moved as fast as I could through the inferno. My heart stuttered and kicked as I fought to keep the shield of ice around my body, which became more and more difficult. The fire had stripped all of the moisture from the air and I struggled to use raw magical power to create the element. My eyes were dry and aching and I fought for every breath. Each inhale seared up my nose and down my throat, scalding my lungs. I felt like the inside of my body had been roasted on a spit.

The barrier of ice around me melted further and I felt the flames licking at my skin. Just ahead I could see the door that led to the barracks-like domicile that housed all of the mage children. I saw the separation of the magelets as another grave injustice visited on those with magic in their blood. While mages were not supposed to bear children, nature _would_ take its course, and I despised nothing more than watching a mother have her children ripped from her breast.

There were many bereaved mothers here, and many children whose mothers had despised them and thrust them at the templars. If our overseers had possessed any sort of humanity and conscience, they would have housed the magelets with the mothers whose hearts still yearned for children. The fucking templars had the chance to mend hearts and repair spirits and instead they kept the children behind closed doors because of the risk of "uncontrolled magic."

 _Damn them! Damn the worthless pieces of filth who set_ _ **fire**_ _to a place that houses children! Maker, if you have ever heard a mage's prayer, give me the power to save them, and the strength to rip apart every templar who has ever caused a mage unnecessary suffering!_

My magic would leave me soon. Without a focus, I was forced to channel my raw power, using too much too soon. My very blood felt singed, my lungs were a glowing forge. I tasted flames in the back of my throat. My clothing, which should have been soaked with the amount of ice I shrouded them with, were drying with a terrifying rapidity. I did not have long before I burned alive.

 _Not this day_ , I swore to myself, a grim resolve overtaking my heart. _I. Will. Not. Lose._

I reached out and my hand felt the heavy steel door, a bar of iron laid across it so that none could escape. Through the gap near the floor, however, the flames would be able to suck the air from the room and feed upon it until the children were suffocated to death.

 _Monsters!_

I knelt in front of the door, begging for strength. My clothing felt wet no longer; I could smell the stench of singed hair and flesh. My throat was raw and my mouth dryer than a desert. My tongue felt thick and charred. Slow, I rose from my kneeling position, feeling the weight of the iron bar press against my shoulder. Once the weight and pressure became more than I could bear, I bolted upright, throwing the bar out of its moorings. The door swung wide and I staggered like a drunken man, falling inside the room and hearing the steel slam behind me.

The air in here was hot, almost too hot, but nothing compared to the molten lava in the hall. I rolled onto my back, gasping, at last producing enough saliva to taste the flames and blood in the back of my throat. There were hands on my shirt and I felt myself be pulled backwards. My right eye did not wish to function; through it I could see nothing but hazy shapes, shifting amidst the sparking flares of white and black.

A clamor of voices rose and fell, the words flying through the room were undistinguishable until a well-known, well-loved lisp captured my hearing. The voice belonged to Thomas, a boy of six, who had seen me training with my staff in the courtyard and attached himself to my hip. He could not say my name, and instead called me after what I had been named for.

"Birdy, Birdy, Birdy!" Small hands wrapped around mine and the world went white as shockwaves of pain spiraled through me from the burned flesh being squeezed. "Birdy, wake up!" He pleaded and I forced my eyes open, willing myself to focus on his dark eyes and the terror within them. "I'm scared." His lower lip trembled.

"Kestrel, here." I felt something touch my chapped, inflamed lips and I groaned in pain and relief as a kind hand tipped tepid water into my mouth. I swallowed and it felt like glass sheeting down my throat. I could hear my own breathing and it sounded terrible, like dead leaves rustling in viscous water.

I opened my mouth, attempting to speak. Instead, I coughed. My lungs seized up in my chest, refusing to expand even though I breathed. The coughing continued, each hack a spear through my chest. Again, hands were on my shoulders, hoisting me up. Another pair of hands rubbed along my breastbone as they had been taught, in attempt to ease the cough. After what seemed an eternity, the fit ended and I found myself looking at Felicity, the oldest of the twenty-four magelets, and the girl I had castrated a templar to protect.

She extended to me another glass of water and I gulped it down, desperate to taste something other than, and to soothe, the seared flesh of my throat. "Kestrel, what's happening?" Felicity's voice carried an edge of pure fear. "Why were we locked in? Why is the hall on fire?"

I looked around the room with my one fully functioning eye, feeling a headache begin to develop as my left eye attempted to compensate for its damaged twin. No one in this room, save myself, was older than fifteen summers. I wanted to lie, to make the truth easier for them to bear, but they were mages. They already knew that they were hated and feared. They already knew that the world we lived in was cruel beyond measure to those with magic. A lie would cheapen their suffering, and they knew too much of anguish.

"Something happened to the Chantry." My voice sounded foreign to my ears; two octaves lower and cracked. "Knight Commander Meredith…" I paused for a difficult, agonizing breath, "…blames mages. The templars are under orders to kill us."

Fat, salty tears rolled down Thomas' chubby cheeks. Even at the tender age of six, he knew of the Right of Annulment. He had seen the horror of a mage made tranquil…children could more easily grasp the concept of a body without a soul. They were also smart enough to know it for the horror it was, not as a commonplace thing in everyday life.

"But we di'nt do nuffin'." He lisped and my heart broke as my resolve strengthened.

I opened my arms and he ran to me, tucking himself inside of my embrace, laying his soft, blonde curls on my shoulder. "I know, Thomas." I soothed him as I felt his small body shake with fear. "All will be well, I promise. I'm here to take care of you, all right? Be brave for me?" I asked, gently guiding his head up and drawing his eyes to mine. "Can you be brave for me, Thomas?"

He nodded, trusting me even through his terror. "Yes, Birdy."

"All right." I frowned as I surveyed the room.

Taking them back down the hall and into the main courtyard would be suicide and murder. If I could not keep the flames at back, they would be burned, screaming in pain, drawing attention to their escape and finding themselves murdered by a templar's blade. I could not let that happen. I _would not_ let that happen.

 _But there seems to be no other way!_ I despaired in my thoughts. _The windows in this room are too high, and they are barred to prevent escape in the event we_ _ **could**_ _reach them. Oh, Maker, what do I do? What would Leliana do…she has found her way free of every situation such as this that she has been in._ I closed my eyes and focused on the enormous burden of breathing. After a moment, I knew the answer. I did not like the answer but we had no other choice _._

"Felicity, I need you and Nicholas," I nodded in the direction of the second eldest mage, Felicity's junior by a month, "to gather all the magelets in a tight group. No one is going to be left behind. I will take the lead and attempt to control the blaze so that we can leave the wing and flee to the ferry. If something should happen…"

"Kestrel, no." Felicity shook her head. "I can already see the signs, and you're near exhausted collapse. Let me lead us out…I owe you a life anyway."

"That is _not_ happening." I held my ground. "Now _do as I say_."

Felicity shook her head again, a gesture so aggravating I wanted to shear her hair so it could not sway in front of her like a deranged horse-tail when she moved.

"You are the one who taught me that we have to support each other and protect each other." She flung one of my lessons against me. "If you do not let me lead the way, I will not follow you."

"That is _foolishness_!" I shouted, doubling over as my throat and lungs shrieked, forcing me to cough.

I jerked with the wracking spasms, focusing all the energy I had remaining into holding back a scream. I could feel the worry and the anxiety in the room. Felicity was an apprentice to one of the other healer mages, and in her eyes I could see fear and, behind that fear, the knowledge that engendered it. The coughing fit ended and my chest felt as it had when I was a child and almost drowned. That same pressure, that same pain, that same rasping inhale existed for me yet again. I looked back up to see Felicity still standing defiant, her chin held high and her arms crossed.

I opened my mouth and prepared for combat when a small hand jerked on my shirt. I looked down at Thomas who wore the pensive, serious expression of a nobleman writing an order of execution.

"I know where to go." He sounded so earnest that I could not help but smile at him with my eyes. "It's a secret."

"Where is it?" I asked, not to pander, but to learn. Another lesson that I had been taught by Leliana burst into the forefront of my mind.

 _Always listen to the children. They are craftier than you realize, more knowledgeable than expected, and capable of storing a dragon's horde of information inside their youthful minds. Most people treat children in the same manner as they treat elven servants. They might acknowledge their presence, then ignore them entirely, expecting them to be too stupid to grasp what is being spoken about, when, in fact, they are comprehending and retaining everything. When a child speaks in a moment of crisis,_ _ **listen.**_

Thomas bolted, running on his chubby legs towards the back of the barracks. I followed him, much slower, fighting to breathe. At the end of the barracks lay another door and I became worried. Was that door locked? Had Thomas ever seen behind it or did he, in his young mind, believe that every door was an exit.

He jumped up and grabbed the latch string, tugging with all of his might until the door swung open. Thomas darted inside the room and as I drew closer I smelled the faint scent of human waste. The door led to the privy for the barracks. I found Thomas at the corner of the room, pointing at a metal plate secured to the floor with a lock. Thomas looked up at me, hope shining in his gaze.

"I saw templars open it an' go down an' they said it goes to the water." He explained.

 _To burn alive or to drown,_ I shuddered at the thought of both.

"I can't swim." Felicity whispered, her cheeks pale.

"Don't gotta swim." Thomas smiled. "The templars said there are bridges to everywhere so's they can go all places real quick an' nothin' can get at 'em or stop 'em. They didn't see me when I listened."

I knelt down beside the metal plate, pulled Thomas into a quick hug, then pulled out the lockpicks that had saved me and Bethany not a candlemark ago. I picked the lock and slammed open the medal door, whispering a prayer of thanks when I saw a saw a passageway with metal bars sunken into the wall; a built-in ladder. I sent Felicity down first, choosing to go last so that I might handle any templar who would come to finish their slaughtering once the blazes died.

"Thomas was right!" Felicity shouted. "There are bridges everywhere!"

"All right, magelets." I smiled at them. "One by one, go down and _stay_ with Felicity."

Thomas volunteered and began easing himself down the ladder. I attempted to focus on my goal, to protect the innocent, in hopes to conquer the pain searing in my chest and throat. But the insistent tickle at the back of my mouth became the scrape of a needle and I succumbed, waving to the magelets, ordering them to keep moving. I clenched my free hand into a fist so tight that my nails cut into my palm and begged for the sharp razors of pain in my lungs to abate.

The paroxysm tapered off and I endeavored to breathe, at last re-establishing a rhythm as the final child scurried down the ladder. I reached up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, then eased myself into the passageway, stepping onto the fourth rung, gripping the first until I could secure my footing. I reached up to pull the metal plate down, cursing when I looked at my hand.

And the scarlet streak across it.


	69. Chapter 69

_**Author's Note:** Hello all! I won't keep you long, but I wanted to thank you all SO MUCH for your patience with me and the writing of this fic. This last week has been hell on wheels, but hopefully things have slowed down long enough for me to get back to regular updates. Thank you all so much for everything, your reading, favorites, follows, and especially reviews. I hope all is well for you, and that you continue to enjoy this tale. _

_Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Kathyra**

Kirkwall, city of chains. City of blood. City of chaos. The heat of the air seared my throat as I ran through the chaotic streets, not away from the epicenter of destruction, but towards it. I choked on the ash as the screams of the terrified and the dying rang in my ears. I did not have the thousand pairs of hands I needed. I could not save them all…I might not be able to save any at all. I had fought such battles before, the wars in which death took all of the winnings, leaving life with nothing to cling to but the knowledge of its inevitable end.

I drew closer to the stairs that led to Hightown, seeing already the signs of the devastation that had been wrought. Chunks of gleaming stone that once comprised the Chantry lay in the streets, cracked and sundered and powdered, mixing with the ash that forced me to stop running, lean against a wall and cough until I felt my lungs would force themselves through my ribs and out of my chest. The cries were deafening, the steps of the stairs spattered with gouts of bright red blood.

In the corner of my eye, I saw a well-known shadow. My constant companion stood with me even now, daring me, challenging me. The spectre of death that I had known as a physical presence since the day Leliana stumbled into the Chantry in Val Royeaux, all but dead from a fortnight of inconceivable torture. We were old friends, death and I, a rivalry existent between us that was anything but friendly.

"This day is yours." I muttered after managing to gather my breath. "But do not think that means you have claimed every victory."

An ear-splitting shriek rang out from one of the Hightown mansions. Half of it lay in the street, decimated by whatever had reduced the Chantry to rubble. I straightened the pack I carried and ran towards the screaming, which ended and began again in short bursts that I recognized all too well.

 _Here? Now? Maker, what manner of twisted timing is this? In the midst and death of chaos, how could you see fit to bring forth a new life._

Though the manse's door was still standing, I ignored it, instead crawling over the rubble of what once had been walls and stumbling into a home that had once been the height of opulence and wealth. Now, the extravagant carpets were ripped and stained, the heavy damask curtains were slashed and broken. The expensive glass windows were nothing but shards on the stone.

The screams continued, pulling me towards them. I burst into a still intact bedroom, stunned by the sight before me. A woman in an elegant dress knelt on the hard stone flooring, holding the hand of…of a young elven maiden.

"Mistress," the elf was pale, her legs splayed, her skirt soaked, pain stamped onto every feature, "please flee…save…yourself…"

"I'm not leaving you, Larissa." The human woman spoke, passion in her voice. It shocked me further when she pressed a frantic kiss to the elf's temple. "Somehow, we will see this through together."

"Allow me to help." I broke the silence, drawing both of their attention to me. It faded quickly as Larissa let out another shriek of pain.

Her body spasmed in the grip of a contraction, her head flying back, revealing a stain that should not be across her chest. Her mistress moved, supporting Larissa's back, allowing the elven woman's head to rest on her shoulder until the wracking contraction subsided. The human woman's eyes, full of fear, lit on me as I knelt down beside them.

"Can you help us?" she entreated. "I am out of my depth and…"

"We need to get Larissa onto the bed." I spoke, taking command, alleviating the anxiety of those who did not know what further action to take. "Can you help me lift her?"

The woman nodded, wrapping her arms beneath Larissa's shoulders. I moved between her legs, wrapping my arms beneath the bend of her knees, nodding to the human woman that I was ready. On mutual agreement, we lifted her. Larissa screamed and the stain across her chest spread, a creeping crimson that would need to be seen to before even thinking of focusing on the agonies of childbirth.

"You're doing well, Larissa." I attempted to soothe her as her mistress propped her up with elegant, embroidered pillows. "Attempt to breathe easy, in through your nose and out through your mouth in equal counts of five. Who can tell me what happened?"

"We were readying for the day when the ground began shaking." Larissa's mistress began the explanation. "We were near the south wall of the house when it fell. Larissa threw herself before me and a stone struck her in the chest. I pulled her away and her water broke…"

"Good enough." I muttered, throwing my pack off of my shoulder and tossing it onto the bed, crawling up beside Larissa and pulling a knife from my belt. "Keep her legs spread and her knees up. The birth canal must be kept open. Larissa," I drew the slight elven woman's attention, "I am going to cut through your dress. I need to listen to your lungs and stop this bleeding. I know it is difficult, but I need you to _hold still_."

The elven woman nodded, her frantic eyes resting on her mistress, a light in them that I understood all too well. It explained the reasons why a pregnant woman would throw herself in front of falling stones to shield another. It explained why she entreated her mistress to leave her. That light could exist and be known as nothing other than love.

Death stood in the corner of the room, glowering at me, waiting for me to concede this losing battle. That would not happen. Larissa tensed, her back arching under the force of another contraction. They were coming fast. I did not have much time.

"Gwen…" she whimpered, and her mistress reached out a hand. Larissa took it, squeezing it until the darker skinned human's flesh went pale.

I sliced through Larissa's bodice, frowning at the depth of the bruising and the ragged gash between her breasts. I lowered my ear, listening to her breathing and the beat of her heart. The pain of labor accelerated the race of her heart, pumping too much blood out of the tear in her skin. If I did not stop the bleeding immediately, Death might claim two lives.

"Larissa, this is going to hurt, but it will save you and your baby." I muttered, pulling a bottle of harsh alcohol from my back, along with my curved needles and silk. "Gwen, put your hands on her knees, keep her from moving over much."

The woman complied and I splashed the alcohol into the wound, a hurried cleansing that I did not prefer, but it would work faster than herbs or water and allow me to immediately stitch the wound closed. Larissa shrieked, her body tensed, and I placed an elbow at the top of her breastbone, beneath her throat, to keep her from lashing out in pain. I dug the needle into the torn flesh and whipped through the stitching of the gash, knotting the thread and slicing it off before replacing Gwen between Larissa's legs. The human noble moved to her servant's side, wrapping an arm about Larissa's shoulders.

"Scream all you want, love." She entreated, confirming my suspicions, not caring about the safety of revealing to another human that she shared a bed, and her heart, with an elf.

"You're doing so very well." I smiled, wiping my sweat dampened hair away from my face and leaving a streak of blood. "I can see the head." I watched as the blood slicked, downy head appeared. "Breathe deep, Larissa." I ordered. "And when the next contraction comes, _push_ with all of your might."

I glanced towards the spectre of Death, a triumphant smile spreading across my lips in absolute _glee_. This was victory. This was perfection. This was _life_ in all of its arrogant, tempestuous beauty.

 _Find another victim, spirit,_ I crowed triumph in my soul. _And leave this moment of_ _ **glory**_ _unsullied!_

I readied my hands as Larissa's body tensed once again. The contraction shredded through her and her wail of anguish pierced my ears as a perfect, healthy child emerged into the world, into my waiting hands. I glanced up and Gwen held out to me a dove-grey silk shawl that must have cost a fortune. I smiled at her and took the cloth, swaddling the young babe as the cry of a new life echoed through the room.

With haste, I lifted the child to the mother's battered, bruised breast, watching with joy as the pain washed away from her features, as the love in her eyes deepened as she looked at the gift from the gods that she cradled in her arms.

"You have a daughter." I whispered, reaching up and severing the cord that bound mother to child.

I kept myself busy, allowing the three of them to exult in their new family, granting them a moment of peace and joy as, outside the shattered walls of their sanctuary, the world as we knew it crumbled. I wanted to stay, but I knew that I could not. Too much remained to be done. Here, life prevailed, but that would not ring true elsewhere.

I reached into my pack and withdrew two vials. I moved off of the bed and rested a hand on Gwen's shoulder, drawing her attention from her lover and their daughter. Her eyes were filled with tears, full of gratitude as she looked at me.

"I cannot stay." I whispered. "The worst is over, but Larissa must still expel the afterbirth. The contractions will return, but do not fret. It is natural. Keep her comfortable and clean and, when it is done, have her drink these, in this order." I handed her the vials. "The first will ease her pain and help restore the blood she has lost. The second will ease her into a healing sleep. Should the child be hungry while she rests, simply lift your daughter to Larissa's breast. Instinct and need will conquer from there."

"Thank you, stranger." Gwen threw her arms around me and wrapped me in a swift embrace. "Creators bless you."

"And keep you safe." I whispered the second half of the Dalish blessing, reached for my bag, and left the house, trusting the goodness of the gods who watched to keep safe the new family.

My running feet guided me to the desolated Chantry. All around I could see nothing but death and devastation, limbs crushed by falling stone, pools of blood that lay still and silent in homage to the destructive force that had committed this atrocity. I shouted my throat hoarse, listening in the deathly quiet to hear if any might return my cry, if any might be here that I might save.

No sound returned to me. Death stood on one of the piles of fallen stone, a smile of peace on his unearthly features, a kindness in his eyes that none would believe existed. I turned to leave, to continue to help, when I heard the scraping of pebbles across stone, and a low moan of pain. I ran towards the faint sound, crashing to my knees beside the body of the Chantry's grand cleric, Elthina.

Her hair was undone, splayed around her face in a blood-matted halo. Her robes were stained and ripped. Through the cloth I could see grievous bruises and lacerations, nothing that could not be mended. Her eyes, a blue so pristine that they appeared silver, looked up to me with ineffable kindness. Her chapped, bloodied lips parted as if to speak, and I shook my head.

"Rest now, Elthina." I ordered. "You must conserve your strength."

Once more, I unslung my bag from across my shoulder. I reached into it to gather what I would need when the light of the rising sun faded, and a shadow fell over me. I looked up and met the eyes of Death…not the kind spectre that I knew, but a vicious flame that intended to consume all in its path.


	70. Chapter 70

**Rylie**

"The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil, and grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch. In blackest envy were the demons born." A terrified voice chanted next to me. "In blackest envy were the demons born…blackest envy…were the…blackest envy...demons..."

"Oh shut up!" I shouted at the sergeant, a man five winters older than I. "If the Chant of Light killed abominations, this battle would never even have been started! Stop meditating on where the damn demons are born, raise your sword, and _send them back there!"_

"Talk is cheap, sergeant!" Another templar, a raw private, sniveled. "That thing is made of fire!"

They stared in horror at the monster of rage as it oozed towards us over the cobblestones, leaving melted rock and bubbling lava in its wake. I realized now what had made half of these templar bastards so cruel as they were. They were bloody _terrified_ of the mages and what those with magic could become. I did not share their fear. I bore the mark of an abomination across my chest. It did not stand for me as a symbol that I had nearly died, but rather as a memory that I _lived_.

 _And I must pay for that life in service to other lives, saving them. I know exactly what a mage might become, if pressed. I also know that it is not a manifestation of their weakness, but of their desperation. That is not a monster to be feared, but pitied and, in that pity, shown mercy's darker face._

"Are you made of paper, private?" I sneered at him, preparing for a battle that I was _not_ ready for.

The templars surrounding me wore plate and chain and boiled leather. I had nothing on but a shirt, trousers, boots, and my blade. I had much more to live for than most of those surrounding me. But they were not prepared to die for anything, striving instead to preserve their worthless, pathetic lives. Lives they believed, in error, were worth something.

 _Kes, should something happen…if you can't forgive me, please know that I had a reason. Fear breeds fear, and if other mages see this then…then they will fall prey to the fear that made this creature._

"I'm not rushing that thing!" The private shrieked as the rage demon drew closer, his screams counterbalancing the sergeant's continued frenetic murmur of the Chant of Light.

"Oh, fuck all of you!" I shouted, at my end with the heresy of the templar order.

I readied my sword and ran towards the approaching abomination, almost despising myself. The thing before me was not a demon, but a person who dove headfirst straight into the darkness of the abyss because they felt they had no recourse. I had no recourse now but to stop it. I could feel the heat of it rushing over me, fiery energy desperate to consume, fueled by an all powerful rage.

The threads of my shirt began to blacken as it drew near. I stood before it, attempting to attract it, to become the focus for its rage. Before it reached me, I pulled deep, drawing on the lyrium within my blood. If I were going to let myself be poisoned day by day with it, I would at least put it to use. My blood began to burn as the power ignited, the power that felt like acid; that hollowed out the body _and_ the soul the more it was used. What created magic could also burn it away, along with the mind of whomever it took captive. Lyrium. Life and death. Raw destruction.

I felt the power gather within me, coalescing around my body. It did not feel at all as Kestrel described her magic. It was not a natural part of me. But I would use it. I focused the raw waves of power around the blade of my sword, waiting until I felt that my heart would burst in my chest. When I could bear it no more, when I felt that my eyes might melt, I knelt down, slamming the point of my blade into the stone and pushing at the light and the power with all of my might. I closed my eyes. They would do me no good in this moment.

I heard a shriek of pure, primal antagonism, hatred and rage given form and life. I felt a blast of lava brush past me and knew that the creature strained now. It strained to maintain its grip in this world. It would make the mistake that all enemies made. It would attempt to overwhelm the power. It _would_ overwhelm the power. No one, singular templar could stand against an abomination…unless it was one that understood tactics…and magic. Leliana and Kathyra had made me an expert in one. Kestrel had made me an expert in the other.

 _Wait…it will burn. It will feel like you are dying. You are not, I promise you. When you feel you are dead…_ _ **that**_ _is when you strike_.

The power I had used granted me a shield, temporary, but enough to defend me from the flesh-melting heat of the abomination. Enough to draw it close to me…close enough that I felt myself die…

I pushed up off of my knees, striking out with my sword in the same motion. I felt it connect with the skin that was not skin, and shred through the elemental heart of a demon pure. The earth cracked beneath my feet and I felt the soles of my feet begin to warm as the smell of scorched leather reached me. I felt overly hot, as though I had stood beneath the sun for too long without clothing. However, I no longer felt the pulse of rage around me like a living thing.

When I opened my eyes, I saw no enemy before me; nothing but the memory of a very human spirit turned to darkness by desperation and hatred. I turned, watching as the private and the sergeant who had cowered in fear at the abomination's approach ran from me, towards a young elven man who carried a staff. The sun caught their steel, flinging a glare into my eyes as they brought their swords down on him, hacking into his sides like an axman felled a tree. A gut-wrenching cry peeled from the elf's lips and he crumpled, pierced through by two blades wielded by _cowards_.

I knew that, if I possessed magic, I would have become the creature my blade just destroyed. Rage filled me, searing me from within, burning away the last vestiges of faith a young woman once had in the templar order. Killing Blaylan and Rast had been one thing. They were in a position of leadership, and they did nothing but exacerbate the chaos and encourage the bloodshed. These two…these two were like me…or at least…at least they had been.

Once, I believed that the templars existed to protect. Perhaps, at one time, they did. But here, in Kirkwall, in this city of chains, the heart of a young woman grew cold. The zeal of a young woman turned to bitterness. The hope of a young woman turned to ashes…the belief of a young woman died.

"You fucking _dogs_!" I screamed, running towards them as they continued to slash the young man's body to ribbons. "What in hell do you think you're doing!?"

The sergeant turned to me, a look of triumph on his face. "Killing abominations!" He yelled, spitting on the young mage's body, desecrating it further. "Best to do it before they become what you just took down, no?"

" _No!_ " I shrieked, anger burning in me cleaner and with more purity than the finest lyrium ever could. "How _dare_ you kill them in their innocence and remain too much a coward to fight them when they become what _you have forced them to become!?_ "

The sergeant backpedaled, his armor gleaming in the sun, like a bright beacon of all that was good in Thedas. That sight would once have inspired me, now it sickened me, for even the light of the stars could not disguise his blade, sullied with innocent blood. It was not the mages who were abominations here, but those who had _not_ been their protectors, but _had been_ their jailors and their torturers. My body moved before my mind and I lunged forward, the point of my sword piercing the sergeant's gorget and neck. His blood fountained when I removed my blade, spattering my face. I turned to the young private, saw the terror in his eyes.

"T…Traitor!" He shouted, looking around for other templars who might be nearby, who might have seen me strike down one of my own. "How could you kill him!? How could you…I don't…" I raised my sword, "… _please, dear Maker, have_ _ **mercy!**_ "

I lashed out, slapping the young man, not yet eighteen years, across the face with the flat of my blade. He fell to the ground, holding his cheek, staring up at me in terror. I stepped towards him and he scrabbled backwards, mouthing a single word, unable to give voice to it.

 _Mercy. Mercy. Mercy._

"Where was your mercy when you _slaughtered_ that man!?" I shrieked, catching up to the boy, planting my boot over the blue sword emblazoned on his cuirass and slamming him to the ground. "Where is _mercy_ at all!?"

"Please!" His shuddering voice begged me once again, weak and in pain and terrified. "Sergeant Camerloch, _please_!"

"Give me a reason." I growled, placing the bloodied tip of my blade at the top of the bridge of his nose, between his eyes, letting the sergeant's blood drip onto his face and scald his eyes.

"I…" He shuddered in his armor. "…I…I'm not one of them!" He shouted at last, his quivering arm pointing to the mage he had murdered. "I'm not…"

It took almost no thought, and only the slightest bit of pressure as I brought my fist down like a hammer on the pommel of my sword, slamming the blade home into his skull. The sickening crunch of cartilage and bone grated on my ears and I stared down at the young fool.

"I wanted a reason _not_ to kill you." I whispered to his corpse, or his spirit. It did not matter which heard me. He was dead, and this world better for it.

"Templars, to arms!" I heard a bellow in a calm, sedate voice. Captain Cullen held his sword aloft and the templars rallied around him like moths gathered 'round a flame. "I need a squad to the south! The mages have found the passageways beneath the island and are attempting to escape! Stop them!"

Templars took off running towards the south, and I joined them. I would not see more innocents killed. If they were attempting to escape, it meant that they wanted no part of the battle. They did not deserve to be _slaughtered_ simply for trying to _live_. Without armor, my feet carried me south faster than those I once called my comrades in arms. Those I would once have trusted with my life, with _Kestrel's_ life. No longer.

The south wall loomed in front of me and my blood ran cold. Tiny bodies were backed against the corner of the prison that kept them caged, huddled in fear as two templars encroached upon them. My breath burned in my lungs as I continued running, for I recognized the halo of swirling light surrounding the magelets…those who were _beyond_ innocent. The templars had cast a field over them, a net where magic could not be cast. They had stripped what little defense the children possessed, and would murder them. I would _not_ allow it. Neither would the woman standing against the templars.

I would recognize her anywhere, strong, proud, fierce. My lover. My mage. My mystic bliss. Her raven hair gleamed in the sun, her hands were lit with magic…until one of the templars raised their blades. My feet seemed to fall out from under me as the sword crashed down, flashing in the sun before…

" _ **Kestrel!**_ "


	71. Chapter 71

_**Trigger**_ _ **Warning:**_ _ Extreme violence, allusions to rape, foul language, blood and gore._

* * *

 **Kestrel**

The pathways ran out of length beneath the island. We had reached the ladder farthest away from the residences of the Gallows. I wanted to believe that it would open beyond the wall, so that the children who had done _nothing_ to incur the violence against them might be safe. I fought the heavy, clawing weight in my lungs with every step. The burns on my skin screamed louder and louder the longer they were exposed to the open air. I could do nothing for that now. The magelets were still terrified, wide-eyed, frightened, pretending strength…putting their elders to shame.

"Kestrel," Felicity appeared at my side, her brows furrowed, her eyes filled with concern, "Kestrel, this is the last exit. The little ones are scared. They…they want to stay down here."

I swallowed down another cough, fearing my ribs would break if subjected to another paroxysm. "We can't." My voice sounded wretched, cracked and bleeding, much like the rest of me. "These are the templar's passageways. We cannot hide here, for it is not a hiding place. We must go up and try to get beyond the walls…mages can defend..." My chest tightened and I attempted to draw a breath, but that did nothing but aggravate the needles in the back of my throat. Harsh, wracking coughs tore through my chest, doubling me over, making me wish I were dead. "Mages can defend open ground like no other."I continued once I could breath again. "We simply have…to get there."

Felicity knelt down beside me. "Right now I'm not certain you can take another step." She kept her voice low so that the children did not hear. "Maker's breath, is that… _Kestrel_ ," she hissed my name, "is that _blood_ on your lips?"

"Hush." I ordered her, forcing myself to stand, to breathe, to find the strength that existed outside of me and within me so that I could press on. "Not in front of the children."

"But…"

"You _heard_ me." I could not let her waste her magic on me.

I was not the one that was important. I was not the future of magic. The children surrounding me, young, innocent, all ripped away from their mothers…they were the future. They were the ones who required defense above all else. They were the ones for whom the healers should save their magic. I knew much about the world. I knew of its cruelty. I knew of its coldness. I knew that the reasons legends existed was because honor and justice were so _rare_ in this world that they were immortalized when known. If I had to die to ensure that the innocent did not suffer, then I would give my life…so that these children who had been spat on, cursed at, and feared from the moment they emerged into the world would know that they were _worth_ something of _value_. Nothing else mattered.

"Birdy," Thomas clutched at my hand as I moved through the children, towards the ladder. "Birdy, they're fighting! I don't wanna go up!"

"Thomas." My voice caught his attention. He stopped speaking. All of them stopped speaking and they looked to me as one and I knew I had their trust. I prayed that I was worthy. "We cannot stay down here." I told them, and the fear in their eyes deepened. "The templars are under orders to…" _Maker, if I die, give them a world where they do not_ _ **fear**_ _their gifts. If my life is the cost for this, I will gladly give it, but do not take me and leave them_ _ **nothing.**_ "They are under orders to kill us. If we stay here, they win. This is not a game of hide and seek. If we remain hidden the longest, we do not win. No one has won from hiding. We win by fighting, by not being afraid, by going up these ladders and proving that we…" I struggled for breath, "…that we deserve to live. I will go up first. Trust me to keep you safe. Felicity will be the last one. Listen to her until everyone is up the ladder, am I understood?"

A round of solemn nods greeted me and I steeled myself. The rungs of the wooden ladder scraped against my burned palms, sending a thousand pinpricks of fire shooting up my arms. My chest felt as though a stone lay on it…a stone growing heavier and heavier by the moment. Breathing the dead, fiery air in the burning hall had damaged my lungs. Of that, I was certain. Most who went into flames did not return whole…unless a spell of healing was immediately cast after the damage. Of all parts of the body, organs were slowest to heal. The time for magic to spare me whatever would come was already past. I accepted that.

Above me, I saw a heavy metal grating, used to conceal this entrance and make it look as nothing but a drain. I gathered what strength I had, lowered my head, and placed my shoulder against the grate. I pushed with my legs, struggling to lift the heavy iron. It gave only the slightest bit and I focused all of my pain and anger, throwing it out of me in a desperate lunge and a ragged cry. The grate moved up and away. I shoved it aside with my burned hands and all but fell upwards, onto the stone, recognizing the far southern wall of the Gallows.

I crawled out on my hands and knees, begging for a clean breath. Instead, another coughing fit struck. My body shuddered and my back spasmed as I fought to clear my lungs, to no avail. Copper and salt flooded across my tongue, my lips parted, and I spat a viscous wad of blood and mucus out onto the ground. All around me I heard screaming, battle cries, pain, panic, fury, frenzy, and fear. One voice still sliced through that, cutting me to my very core.

"Birdy!" Small hands tugged at my shirt, trying to pull me upright. "Birdy, what's wrong!?" The tiny voice held too much fear. It broke my heart. "Are you bleeding?" He stared at the spatters of blood on the cobblestone and his lower lip trembled.

"No, my sweet boy." I wrapped him in my arms and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "It's magic." I lied to him. I had to. I pulled back, meeting his eyes. "Have you ever eaten something that was _so_ nasty you had to spit it out?" He nodded, solemn, still afraid. "Well, I swallowed the fire in the hallway so it couldn't get you. It tasted _gross_!" I smiled, assuring him that all was well.

He stared at the blood. "It's…it's fire?" he questioned me and I nodded, watching from the corner of my eye as more of the magelets ascended from the tunnels.

"Yes." I ruffled his hair. "That's why it's dark red, Thomas. It changes color after you chew it."

His eyes grew wide, but the fear in them vanished, replaced by awe and complete faith. "Can you teach me to eat fire, Birdy?"

"When you're older." I promised, holding out my hand. He took it in his own, shook it once, and returned to the safety of his fellows, reassured that all was well, that he was safe…that _I_ was safe.

I pushed myself to my feet, assessing the situation. Most of the templars seemed occupied in the courtyard, but that did not mean we would not be seen. The nearest gate lay along the western wall, closer to the fighting than I wanted to take the children, but we had no choice. The worst combat I had seen had been on board that damned ship, years ago…the rational part of my mind knew that skirmish was nothing, but the horror of what lay before my eyes threatened to undo me. The eyes of those I protected were _never_ meant to see these atrocities. All I could do was attempt to get them to safety…to keep them from seeing as much of this as possible.

"Kestrel!" Felicity's voice rang over the clamor. "We're all here. What do we do?"

"Stay close to the wall!" I ordered. "We'll try to get out through the western gate. I want the older children to stay on the outside of the group. If something happens, stay behind me!"

 _Maker, give me strength. Please._

We began to move. I wanted to run, but I knew I could not. The younger children would not be able to keep up, and I would not leave anyone behind. We made it to the corner where the south and west walls met, undiscovered, when I heard a scream behind me. I turned and saw Maris, a babe of five years, curled on the ground, holding her leg. I cursed under my breath and ran to her, skidding to my knees on the stone, bruising them.

"Maris, sweetheart, let me see." I kept my cracking voice as even and soothing as I could.

Gentle, I removed her hands, biting my lip when I noticed the crimson stain on her dress. I pulled the cloth away, relieved when I saw that she had done nothing but scrape her knee. While such injuries were painful, she was not badly hurt. I brushed the dirt and pebbles away from the gouges in Maris' soft skin, whispering soothing nothings all the while to comfort her. I gritted my teeth and reached for my magic, intending to heal the small injury. A hand rested on my shoulder.

"Let me, Kestrel." Felicity whispered. "I can take care of Maris, but…"

I heard the clank of armor and the slithering whisper of a sword pulled from its sheath. Two templars were running towards us. I placed Maris in Felicity's arms.

"Get behind me." I ordered, rising to my feet, driving away the instinct to heal and reaching for deadlier magic.

The templars stopped in front of me and blood drained from my face as I saw who they were. Braxton and Scotts…the former I had rendered useless as a man for the attempt he made on a thirteen year old girl. The latter had beaten me within an inch of my life for damaging his worthless friend.

"Oh, this is too bloody good." Braxton sneered, showing his yellowed, rotting teeth behind a tangled black beard. "The self-righteous apostate cunt who took my manhood."

"I could not take what you've never had, Braxton." I quipped.

"You…"

"Don't trade words, trade blows!" Scotts shouted, raising his sword.

Bright, scathing light enveloped him and blinded me. I heard the children screaming behind me, a horrific pain in the tiny voices that made me feel _murderous_. I could feel what Scotts was doing…using the lyrium in his blood to drain the magic from ours, to cleanse the area and make every single one of us incapable of using magic…incapable of defending ourselves.

I could feel the claws of his power, the light surrounding him piercing my body and attempting to shred my magic away from me. I opened my eyes and light impaled them, intensifying the throbbing of my damaged right eye. I turned away, looking at the children. All of them were on their knees or on the ground, sobbing as they felt the horror of a templar's cleansing for the first time. Thomas saw me; his hand reached out. Pain was smeared across his innocent features like a horrific scar.

" _ **Birdy!**_ " He screamed for me, over and over.

I fought the cleansing magic, because I knew how. I understood the ability, for I once possessed it. This power was meant to immobilize mages. If a templar could hold it long enough, the pain of having their magic eaten away could force a mage's heart to fail. The hearts of children were not strong enough to withstand Scotts' onslaught.

I took a step forward and the world tilted on its head as Braxton's plated fist rammed into my already injured right eye. Pain became the sole thing in my existence. I could not see. I could not breathe. I could not stand. I crumpled to my knees, fighting to keep my magic, to withstand the man who would use his gifts not to protect, but to _murder_ _ **children.**_

" _That's_ what I like." Braxton's voice slithered through the screaming, assaulting me. "A cunt on her knees where she _fucking_ belongs."

"How tragic…" I gasped as my chest tightened again, "…that you've…no proper sword…with which to knight me…bastard."

I stared up at him, fighting my own body, fighting to get to my feet, to use the magic that was still _mine_ , that they could not take from me. I watched as he raised his blade, anger shining in his evil eyes, streaks of spit staining his beard as it dripped from his foul mouth.

"I've got you're proper sword right here!" he roared, raising his weapon above his head with both hands, planning to spear me into the ground.

 _Move!_ I shouted at myself, but my body would not obey. Instead my throat tightened, my lungs twisted, and I began coughing. Braxton thrust his blade down as I fell to the side and the wretched cough shattered into a scream. I felt cold steel pierce my flesh, my right shoulder. My collarbone snapped as the blade sheared through it and burst through my back and into the soft mortar, pinning me to the ground.

"Not the sword I would have chosen." Braxton sneered above me as the children's screams of pain shrilled higher into those of fear. "But it'll work just fine."

"Still…" I snarled around the pain, refusing to give in, refusing to abandon the children to these _monsters_. "…even…with…a…metal…implement…you can't… _finish_ …properly."

" _Fuck_ you." Braxton cursed. "You'll bleed out soon enough, bitch. 'Til then, I'll make you watch me carry out my orders. Scotts, enough. They're drained of magic. Let's see what the apostate thinks of watching her precious children slaughtered like hogs."

With my one working eye, I watched Braxton pull the second sword he carried across his back. I could not move. I could not speak. My entire world was made of pain, the weight in my chest, the burns lacing my arms and hands, the shards of broken bone piercing my skin, the throbbing between my temples, the roaring ache of my right eye…I could see yellow slivers of bone protruding through my riven flesh. The cold steel embedded in my body _burned_ worse than the flames in the hall.

"I want her to watch!" Braxton snapped and I heard footsteps and screaming.

Scotts held Thomas by his hair, dragging him across the ground, coming to stand in front of me. I felt anger and rage slice through me, numbing the savagery of the pain. Tears streaked down Thomas' chubby cheeks; his eyes were tortured, his lips working back and forth. Even though he had lost his voice, I could read his words.

 _Help me, Birdy. Help me._

Scotts pulled his head back and Braxton readied his blade, sparing a moment to glare at me. "I'll bleed 'em dry." He growled. "Then take my blade and shove it up your cunt."

I could hear the spirits whispering across the Veil. Desire promised me power. Rage promised me destruction. Fear promised me victory. I wanted to give in. I wanted to open my soul as my body had been opened and shred apart the _true_ demons who stood before me, preparing to kill an innocent child.

" _ **Kestrel!**_ " A cry shrieked across the stones, sounding so sweet, so familiar. But it couldn't be real. The gods were not that kind.

"Birdy." Thomas murmured, his eyes fixed on Braxton's blade.

His whisper silenced the shrieking of the spirits. I did not have time to allow them in. I promised to protect the magelets. I promised, and I would _not_ fail my word. With my free hand, I pushed myself up, ignoring the agony that threatened to drown me. The blade broke free of the mortar and I struggled to my feet. Without thinking, I grasped the hilt of the sword in my body and ripped it out of my shoulder, bringing it down in time to block Braxton's strike.

I threw his blade aside, stepping under the flailing of his sword arm and running the edge of my blade across Scotts' neck. He clutched at the gaping wound, releasing Thomas, who ran back to the others. Braxton gained his footing. In his eyes lived pure hatred, wrath, and all things that made him _evil_. An abomination before the Maker.

I could feel blood pouring down my back and over my breasts. There were no clear edges in this world; everything smeared together. Braxton whipped his blade down in an overhead strike and I batted it away. He struck at me again from the side. I ducked beneath it and the dead weight of my useless right arm dragged me down. Once again I rested on my knees, gasping for air, my lungs making a horrid rattling sound as they attempted to fill.

Braxton stood over me once again. He lifted his boot and slammed it down on my left hand. I shrieked as I heard and felt the crunching of the delicate bones. He kicked my shoulder, knocking me onto my back. I lay there, gasping, bleeding, watching the world fade in and out of existence. I could not even hear the spirits here. He planted his boot on my chest and a sound shredded out of my throat that sounded like a dying animal.

I stared at the bright metal of his greaves, the armor plating that covered his boot…and I laughed. It sounded nothing like a laugh, more of a horrific, wheezing series of gasps, but it was enough to distract him…I heard a voice from beyond the Veil…my father's voice…

 _Watch, Kestrel. Watch the storm. Do you see it? Do you see the lightning? It is attracted to the metal spire of the tower. Watch how it sparks and flashes, running through the metal. That is what it is for us, do you understand. I am the flare of light, the distraction. You are the true strike, coursing through the metal, acquiring what we need._

I threw my broken hand on top of Braxton's boot. He leered down at me in triumph.

"Going to beg for your life, bitch?" he asked.

I did not answer. Instead, I grasped the magic that _no_ templar could steal from me. I knew their tricks and their tactics. I had found ways around them. Lightning poured through my broken hand, coursing up and through the metal of his armor. He jerked and screamed as the power of the storm fried him within his armor, that which he trusted to protect his worthless carcass.

His body slammed to the ground, smoking, charred, and dead. I allowed my eyes to close. I could not feel the pain any longer. I could hear the magelets, all of them. Alive. Beautifully alive. Worth it. It was…it was…worth…

" _ **No!**_ " I heard a new voice, a voice that I would always know, precious and pure and my entire _world_. " _Don't_ you _**dare**_ close your eyes, Kestrel Ariyah!"

Slow, I dragged my eyelids upwards, needing to see, needing to know. Rylie's face hovered in my blurring vision. Her snapping black eyes were filled with tears, and the sight of that hurt worse than my wounds.

"Don't cry…sweet girl."


	72. Chapter 72

**Rylie**

 _This is not happening; this cannot be happening, please dear Maker let this be a_ _ **lie**_ _! This cannot be_ _ **real**_ _! I do not want this to be_ _ **real!**_

There were tears in my eyes, emotion taking control. I could swear it was attempting to save me, to spare me the sight of what _could not be_. Except for the fact that it was. The fact that the stench of charred flesh blistered my nostrils. The fact that all around me there were terrified children. The fact that there was blood on my hands and it was not _my_ blood. It was not the blood of those I had slain. This blood _mattered_. It mattered so _much_ and there was _too_ much of it everywhere. On the ground. On the blades of swords. On my _fucking_ hands.

Her eyes were closed. They couldn't be closed; I would not _let_ them be closed. Closed eyes in her state meant _one_ thing. I had already lost my identity and my belief in the order I had once wanted nothing more than to be a part of. I would _not_ lose Kestrel too. I couldn't.

" _ **No!**_ " I shrieked, my heart in my voice, my fear in my voice, my terror present and swirling about me. " _Don't_ you _**dare**_ close your eyes, Kestrel Ariyah!"

 _Oh, Maker, please listen to me. Please, Kestrel. Please open your eyes. I'll give anything; I'll_ _ **do**_ _anything. Just open your eyes._

I held my breath. I allowed all other sounds to fade away. Slow, with what looked like great difficulty, her eyes slid open. The bright, vibrant green that I loved so well held nothing but pain and an agony so ferocious it broke my heart. My eyes clouded with tears, tears that I couldn't afford but that would allow me to do nothing but _shed_ them in the face of this _atrocity_.

"Don't cry…" Kestrel's voice, always quiet, ever unassuming, had been broken by something. It sounded scorched, ragged, broken…it was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. "…sweet girl."

"I won't." I promised her, putting my sword down and ripping off my shirt, wadding up the material, preparing to press it to the horrific wound in her shoulder that _wouldn't_ stop bleeding. "I won't cry if you just keep your eyes open. Keep your eyes open and look at me, Kes. Just look at me. Don't try to talk, just keep your eyes open."

There was so much damage that had been done to her, and I was certain that not all of it could be seen. What I could see, though, was the bone of her skull where the flesh near her right eye had been torn away. I could see that her right eye was scratched; the white of it turned scarlet by blood. I could see the gaping hole in her body where she'd been run through. I laid my wadded shirt over the wound and pressed down, keeping my eyes on Kestrel's. The anguish there intensified, her lips parted, and a horrific _wail_ broke past her teeth.

"Stop it!" A small force barreled into me, beating at me with tiny fists, pulling my hair, distracting me. I did not strike back. I could not. Not after watching Kestrel almost _die_ for them. "Stop hurting Birdy!" A young boy screamed…Kestrel had told me about him. The one who followed her as her shadow.

 _Thomas. His name is Thomas._

"Thomas, please…" My voice cracked. He had knocked my hand away from Kestrel's wound. I could see the blood spilling out once again. "…please. I…"

"Thomas." A young woman—the young woman Kestrel had saved two years ago— _Felicity_ —pulled the boy away from me. "Thomas, she's helping. Helping people hurts them sometimes, but it's a _good_ hurt. Now get back so that she can help Birdy, all right?"

The boy's lower lip trembled and tears streaked down his cheeks. My lover fought for the innocent. She looked after the children before even herself, as the burns on her arms and hands and the blood pouring for her body testified to. Her eyes were still open. There was still hope. I had to keep hoping. Keep praying. Keep pressure.

"I'm sorry, Kestrel." I whispered.

I pressed my hands over my ruined shirt and bore down. Once more, Kestrel's broken voice cried out in pain. The cool wind brushed across me and I shivered from more than just the bite in the air. Already my shirt was soaked through with blood, and I could see a pool of it forming beneath her body. I would rip off every piece of clothing I had, breastband, trousers, and smallclothes if it would help, but it wouldn't. It was a gaping wound, a puncture completely through her body. I'd never seen anyone survive that without magic.

I looked to Felicity, hoping that she would not see me as a templar sergeant, as one of the ones committing these crimes under the horrific guise of following orders. I prayed that she would trust me. I needed help. I did not know what to do. I wasn't Kathyra or Leliana, with the knowledge and capability to repair this kind of damage.

"Is there anything you can do?" I asked the young woman, dying within myself as she shook her head.

"I can heal a little." She murmured, looking over her shoulder to make certain the little ones could not hear her. "The only thing I might be able to do is stop her bleeding. But Scotts cleansed us of magic. I have no power, no energy left."

 _ **NO!**_

Everything within me caught fire. Everything bled. Kestrel's eyes were made of pain and I felt that pain like a knife in my gut, ripping and twisting and shredding. Tears would not stop pouring out from my soul onto my cheeks. Kestrel's skin was the color of bleached bone. The red ink of her mark looked too much like the blood spilling out of her body, covering everything.

"I can reverse it." I reached out with my bloodied hand. Her eyes narrowed and I noticed that she shivered. I could but imagine that, after what she had witnessed, she would never trust a templar again. What she did not know is that I was her sister in that. I, too, would never trust another templar. "I can give you your magic back, Felicity. Please."

Shock fluttered across her face and the fear inside her eyes intensified. I knew why. I understood. I cared, even though I had no wish to. I was a templar. She was a mage. She did not expect me to know her name, much less to call her by it. She did not expect to be treated as a human being should be. She expected orders, not supplications.

I could feel Kestrel trembling beneath my hands. Shivering. Shivering was bad. Shivering could mean shock, and shock meant…I could not lose her. I could not. I wasn't strong enough to lose her and I would _not_ let her go. Her eyes were still open, but time would soon run out.

"I beg you." I pleaded. "I beg you."

Felicity held out a shaking hand. I took it, urging the lyrium in my blood to flow to hers, to replace what had been stolen. No templar knew that this ability existed…the ability to _restore_ magic. Kestrel and I had discovered it, together…the ramifications of it were stunning. If a templar could _give_ , then it meant that allies were meant to be formed between the two. A partnership, not a dictatorship.

"Rylie…" Kestrel gasped, tearing my attention away from Felicity. "…behind…you…"

I looked behind me and froze…across the stone floors loomed a hulking monstrosity. I had seen its like before…and been ripped apart by its magic. The abomination came closer and I lifted my sword. My hands were slicked with sweat; it poured down my face as my heart raced against my ribs. The scar across my chest burned and I was _afraid_. I was torn. I did not wish to leave Kestrel's side…but she had fought so hard for these children. She could no longer fight for them. I had to.

"My magic…" Felicity spoke behind me, sounding awed, "…it's back. I…I'll do what I can Kestrel."

 _Thank the Maker._

I rose to my full height as the abomination drew closer. I prayed for strength. I prayed for help. I prayed for _something_ because I did not know if I could do this on my own. It was close enough to smell now, and the stench of it threatened to overpower me. I raised my blade, preparing to strike. I had no more strength, no more power as a templar to defeat this thing. I would have to do it on my own.

The abomination stopped short and I stared at its neck...recognized the arrowhead protruding through it. Only one woman I knew could put _that_ manner of razor edge on them. The demon slumped to the ground and behind it…

"Leliana!" I shouted her name as she jumped the body of the abomination, landing beside me, her sharp blue eyes taking in the entirety of the situation…resting on Kestrel and the young mage doing the best that she could to stop the bleeding.

"Oh my dear Maker." Leliana breathed, before taking complete charge. "Young mage, who is the best healer in the Gallows?"

Felicity looked up, somehow sensing that Leliana was a woman that should be answered at all costs. "First Enchater Orsino." She stammered. "And…and Bethany Hawke."

"Rylie," Leliana turned to me. "There is one safe place in this damned mess. Take Kestrel and the children to Meredith's offices. They will be untouched and the bitch herself will not be there. I'll find Bethany and bring her to you. Go!"

I knelt down beside my lover, heartened to see that she no longer bled so profusely. Her eyes were half-lidded, fluttering; she fought to keep them open, to listen to my pleas.

"This will hurt, darling." I whispered. "I'm sorry."

When I lifted her, the scream of agony was the worst sound I had ever heard. It would haunt me.

For years.


	73. Chapter 73

**Leliana**

Fire. Smoke. Blood. Screaming. Panic. Pain. One did not forget the horror of a moment like this, and I had lived through too many. The walls of the Gallows became the walls of Denerim. The shrieking of the embattled became the unholy roars of the darkspawn. Once before, I had stood here, and before me walked the truest hero of our age. The woman I loved. The woman I wished could be here with me now.

 _Even in utter madness, Salem remained calm. She led with a steady, strong hand against the forces of the darkness. And even when victory was so distant a concept, so faraway an idea…she did not lose. Where are the heroes, now, Maker? I am not Andraste. Your prophet I may be, but I cannot also be your sword…your sword should not fight from the shadows and wield weapons that strike from afar._

I pulled an arrow from my quiver and nocked it against my bow string. The Gallows ran rife with my enemies. Mage or templar, I did not care. The templars nearly killed Kestrel for no crime committed other than that she was a mage who protected children with magic in their blood. My time with Kathyra had taught me much…taught me things I had no wish to know...the knowledge to ascertain the fact that Kestrel lay at death's door.

 _You cannot take the best one of us away, Maker,_ I prayed as I ran through the screaming and the fires and the murder, searching for the one person that I needed…a young woman that I remembered as being soft of voice and gentle of spirit…with the heart of a lion, required of a mage in hiding. _You cannot take the one who willingly endured the apostate's mark, who has been beaten, imprisoned, and nearly killed in the defense of those weaker than she. You cannot take the woman who would sacrifice so much of herself. You have already taken Salem from this world. You cannot take Kestrel, too. You **can not**. _

I lifted my bow as I saw a creature born of pride and desperation hulking across the cobblestones, breaking them beneath its massive feat. The weapons of the templars did nothing, striking off of the swirling shield of magic, screaming as the abomination's power ripped through them, severing armor and flesh and limbs. I fired the arrow, watching it soar and pierce the demon of pride's shield, entering its skin. It turned its attention towards me as I drew another arrow. I fired two shots in quick succession, taking each one of its eyes.

The shield dropped and the abomination stood in the center of seven felled templars, looking like some bizarre, hideous blood flower at the end of all things. I lifted my bow. A final shot to its perverted heart would end its life and grant whoever it had once been peace of mind and quiet rest. To murder was often a crime. To kill was often a mercy. This was the world that I lived in…I did not want this world. It hurt. It tore at my soul and threatened to destroy me. Every part of me ached as I released my arrow and it flew true.

Shot from the enchanted bow, the bow that belonged to the Couslands when they were of Tevinter, when they possessed a powerful magic that became a curse stamped in their blood, the arrow struck. The demon collapsed to its wretched knees, a horrible ululation tearing from its throat that reminded me of the dying wail of the archdemon. I closed my eyes and remembered the pain of being struck twice by darkspawn arrows…of watching Salem's body flung against the wall…of knowing her to be dead and, at the last moment, given reprieve from a lifetime of grief.

That moment had been sacred. A strong, kind, merciful woman defeating an ancient god filled with anger and anguish and wrath and darkness. This moment held no such beauty, no such assurance, no such kindness. It held nothing but desperation and torment. Beyond the demon, I saw a young woman with raven tresses and dark brown, kind eyes, fall to her knees. Her skin was stained with soot and streaked through with tears. She grieved for the monster at the heart of those it had slain. She clutched her staff for support and her lips parted in words that would never be given voice, for they were too sacred and desperate and harsh. I read them, feeling the voyeur, feeling the monster, feeling that I should not have the gifts that I possessed.

 _Why? Why did you do this?_ I heard Bethany's questions, saw what no other would. _I begged you not to. I_ _ **begged**_ _you…we could have survived,_ _ **you**_ _might have lived. Why…why did you choose to die? Why was I unable to save you?_

I understood her final question as she hung her head and wept. I understood it for I had asked it myself too many times. Days of doubt. Days of lonesome wandering through the land that had given birth to me, but never been my home. Not unless I stood beside Salem…not unless I lay cradled in her arms. I had asked those questions, demanding of my spirit and the gods to know if I might have been able to save Salem's life. If I might have found a cure for the taint that ate away at her blood and her consciousness until she chose to _die_ rather than become a monster without mind and soul and conscience.

I walked towards Bethany Hawke, feeling the thick blood of demon and man squelch beneath my boots. I stood over her, holding out my hand so that she might see it. So that she might grasp it and rise upward from the pit of despair threatening to claim her.

"There is one you still might save." I whispered the words, knowing that she would hear them; having that belief confirmed as she raised her eyes to mine. "Follow me, I beg of you." I entreated, not above lowering myself to save someone that I loved.

"Sister…Sister Leliana?" Bethany asked, her eyes wide in recognition, her lips trembling. "Is it…is it you?"

"It is." I replied. "Ask your questions later, Bethany. Your skills are needed."

She said nothing, merely gripping her staff and my hand, rising to her feet and nodding to me as resolve painted a landscape across her features. Yes. I had not judged her wrongly. She possessed the heart of a lion, the heart of a _dragon_ , and because of her, life would continue. I guided her through the morass of ignorance and resistance, through the shouts, through the cries, through the good men turned into monsters by a misguided faith that would rather preach death than face the horror of the truth.

 _That they are wrong. That they have_ _ **been**_ _wrong since the days of Andraste. The Maker's Bride. The woman who failed._

I traded my bow for my daggers, killing those who wished to stop us, not discriminating between robes and armor. There were things that did not matter here. Not to me. I let my heart go cold. Once I might have felt sympathy, attempted to see this from both sides, but I could not. Not here. Not when I had seen the blood of one I loved spilling onto the ground from wounds dealt by a callous hand. Not when Kathyra was not near me and might be in danger. I had lost so much. I had little left to lose but my lover, my friends, and my faith.

We stormed into the Gallows, almost astounded by the eerie quiet in the rooms. There were no footsteps but ours as we ran a frantic path to Meredith's offices. I burst through the door, feeling an eerie calm. All I could hear were the sniffles of children fighting to be brave. They lined the walls of the office, clinging to one another for support. Beside me, Bethany paled.

Meredith's desk had been cleared. The trappings of her office lay strewn on the floor like monuments to a dead tyrant…memorialized only because those under their thumb were glad of their new freedom. Kestrel lay on top of the desk, fighting to breathe. Rylie held her hand; her lips were moving. I did not want to read them. I knew what she would be saying…words I had too often said myself.

 _Stay with me. Do not close your eyes. Please, my love, do not leave me here alone. Please…please…please…_

Kestrel once asked me if it was as the Chantry believed…that the prayers of the righteous availed much. None were righteous. But surely a prayer whispered in the purity of love would stand in the place of a righteousness we could not rise to, for we were mortal, weak, fallible, and flawed. Surely love would be an arbiter between our mortal weakness and the Golden City. Surely not all loves were doomed as mine…to perish.

Bethany left my side and ran to Kestrel. Her hands began to glow with the familiar blue light of healing magic. Subtly, my shoulders tensed…preparation. Even now, I could not see the light of healing magic without waiting for the horrific screaming of one in unimaginable pain. It never reached my hearing, and had not done so for years. Still, the instinct lay within me, ever present. Rylie moved away at Bethany's gentle urging, walking to me.

Her bright eyes were dejected, exhausted, and almost broken. I reached out my hand to her and she took it, folding herself into my arms. Her tears stained the leather armor I wore and I held her as she sobbed. I closed my eyes, remembering an older and wiser woman holding me in this way when the grief and the fear and the waiting became too much. So much had changed. Now, I stood in the place where once Wynne had stood for me. I could never fill her place, nor accept the mantle of the wisdom and gentleness that she carried. What I could do was hold the young templar close to me and whisper.

"I know." I promised her. "I know and I am sorry."

We stood in the silence, listening to children weep. Surely their tears reached the gods. If ever righteousness existed, it lay in the heart of a child. If ever mercy existed, it was granted to the young. If ever peace existed, it did not visit my life, or the lives of those I touched. I felt a murderer in this place, listening to Rylie's quiet, desperate tears and Kestrel's strained, stilted breathing.

"Sergeant Camerloch." Bethany spoke and Rylie extricated herself from my arms, turning to the Champion's sister.

 _And where is the dedicated, intrepid Micah Hawke when this damned city requires her the most? What could waylay her from the heart of this conflict?_

"Yes?"

"You are aware of how healing magic works, yes?" The younger Hawke asked. Rylie nodded.

 _It takes the reserves of strength from the injured person and uses it to expedite the body's own healing. However, if the person has lost too much blood, if their injuries are too grave…sometimes healing magic takes the last strength they have that holds them to life. Sometimes, it kills._

"Kestrel's lungs are burned…I assume from when she ran through the hall to reach the magelets." Bethany spoke and a pained whimper slipped from Rylie's lips. "It is too late to reverse the damage, but I can mitigate it…"

"Yes. Please." Rylie nodded, almost begging.

Bethany shook her head. "She has lost a great deal of blood." The healer explained. "Her right eye is cut and gouged, and the nerve behind it has been almost torn away. Vision is a sense necessary for survival, and her body is struggling to repair it as quickly as it may. In order for me to be able to heal her lungs, without endangering her life, I will have to blind her right eye. Once her mind realizes that the damage to the eye is permanent, it will allow me to refocus those energies elsewhere without having to fight."

Blood drained from Rylie's face and her eyes turned to obsidian crystals. Her hands clenched and unclenched, the muscle in her jaw leapt as she gritted her teeth, struggling not to hear the words from which she could not escape. She looked at Bethany no longer; her eyes were fixed on Kestrel. The mage had slipped into unconsciousness. Much time did not remain. The decision would have to be made quickly.

Rylie turned to me, tears in her eyes. "This isn't supposed to happen." Her voice rang through the quiet of the room, pained and wounded. "Healing magic is supposed to _fix_ things, not _damage_ them _further!_ " Her anguish washed across the floor, covering all of us in a mantle of sorrow. "She shouldn't…I can't…I do not… _fuck!_ " The templar pushed past me and exited the room, slamming the door with a horrific thud of finality.

I looked to Bethany Hawke. "Do it." I ordered, keeping my voice steady, as _one_ of us had to be. "Blind the eye, and do what you can. Thank you."

The mage turned to her work and I left the room, finding Rylie out in the hall, her forehead pressed to the stone. The knuckles of both her hands were bloodied, and crimson smeared the wall. Soon her hands would be swollen and the bruises would show. There was no place for words here. I understood that. Instead, I walked to her, took her injured hand in my own, and began to bandage the wounds. She did not need my words. She did not need my reassurances or my wisdom or my condolences or my strength. She needed to know that, no matter what wounds she endured, there were those who loved her, who would strive in whatever manner they could, to mend them and ease her hurt.


	74. Chapter 74

**Kathyra**

Death held his staff, not allowing the bladed edge of it to touch the ground. I knew that he prepared to use it. Just as he had prepared whatever it was that reduced this Chantry to rubble, he prepared now. I could see it in his lightning-flare eyes, in the expression of triumph and horror stamped upon his face. This man, this man who would be death, did not know gentleness, kindness, or understanding. He did not understand mercy, perhaps because he never believed it to be shown to him. What I did know was that magic crackled around his hands, and he did not bear the apostate's mark.

I did not take my eyes from him, but I continued my work, pulling bandaging from my pack and applying it to the wounds in Elthina's body, hearing her low groans of pain, her gasping breaths as she fought to stay in this world and defy the brutality the man standing above us had perpetrated. To rise above the crimes committed by those in direct defiance of life.

"I know you." His voice did not sound as it had the last time I heard it, when he rebuked me for taking action to save the life of his friend, because it would leave horrific scars; because it caused her pain. Pain he did not spare her by being absent in her hour of need. He stood in judgement of me again, but it was not the healer-mage who spoke.

It was something beyond him, deeper within him, darker and more powerful than one could possibly imagine. He spoke and it was thunder rumbling across the sky, lightning at its cracking point of strike. The voice belonged to the unnatural blue fire in his eyes. It was not of this world. _He_ was not of this world.

"Then you know what I must do." I replied, keeping my hands busy, removing my tunic and folding it, using it to cushion Elthina's head from the stone and rocks it lay on.

"What you are doing is wrong!" He thundered, and I saw the trembling of his hands and the weapon held in them. "Do you not understand that you defile sacred ground!? The blood spilled here this day is holy! It serves a greater end! I have witnessed men and women die for no reason but a despot's order, and you would do disservice to their deaths by bringing implements of healing when they have been wounded and perish for _glorious_ _ **purpose!?**_ "

"Blood spilled for _any_ agenda lacks glory and honor." I murmured, threading a needle through with silk, preparing to stitch the Grand Cleric's wounds. "Why do you dishonor and mock them, standing over them with a weapon that you were too afraid to use? How can you claim that their deaths serve glorious purpose when you were willing to watch from afar as your plan was set in motion? I know you." I looked up from my work and into his eyes. "I know you to be a spirit of Justice locked inside the body of a man. But what I see here before me now is the actions of an abomination, for no spirit who embodied justice could look upon this massacre and believe it to be _good_."

"It is _necessary_." The voice of perverse Justice rumbled out of the mage Anders' chest. "It is necessary so that the blind might _see_ , so that the deaf might _hear_ , and so that all who dull their senses to the truth of the world might have them ripped open and renewed."

I locked my eyes with his, feeling a weathered, blood-slick hand rest over mine, giving strength to my words.

"You are a coward, man and spirit." I told him. "You are no Andraste, and this is no holy war. This is senseless slaughter that will avail _nothing_. You might have been a champion. You might have been a savior. You might have been so many things. Instead, you chose to murder and maim the innocent. You chose to walk this path, Anders. You and I were, once, not so different. We were healers. Now, I alone wear that mantle, for you are become a worse monster than those you rail against."

The lightning in his eyes crackled. The staff he held, unsoaked, undamaged by blood, unstained with _true_ belief in the necessity of his actions, trembled within his grasp. He looked down at the dying Grand Cleric, the woman who could be saved if he turned his back and left me to my work and my calling. No mercy existed in his eyes. His shoulders straightened with the resolve of the truly perverse and _mad_.

"There can be no saviors." He murmured, the thunder in his voice dimming to a quiet, deadly resolve. "There can be no heroes, no champions. There can be none who emerge from this. You understand that, don't you?"

I heard his words and looked down at my hands, hands that kept pressure on a wound, that pinched closed a ruptured vein in hopes to repair it. I wore my blades at my belt, but if I reached for them, Elthina would bleed out. The choice I faced was a simple one. I had never been a savior, or a champion, or a hero. I was a broken woman, a thief, a whore, a liar…a bard. I had been saved by a woman who loved me, who turned a killer's hands into a healer's hands. No matter the cost, I was a healer. A physician.

 _I will not dishonor you, Giselle. I will not abandon the life that you gave me. I will not abandon the woman you saved, and…and I will not run any longer._

I would not move my hands.

I lifted my head, watching Anders' eyes flash as he lifted his staff. The blade of it glinted in the sun, sparkling like a diamond, cold and cruel as his twisted heart had become. I waited, watching. His shoulders rippled, his hands clenched and the weapon moved. I did not close my eyes. The blue lightning in his gaze faded, softening his features. His footing faltered and I saw him attempt to stop his movements, but he could not arrest them in time.

The blade shifted, missing my heart, catching beneath my breast and raking through my skin, nicking my ribs before at last slipping into the soft tissue. Anders' hands trembled, making the blade jerk inside my body. I could not even feel the pain, though I knew that it had struck and pierced my intestines; that soon my blood would be poisoned and that nothing could save me from that. It would be a slow, painful death.

The mage's eyes were lit with fear as he pulled his blade from my body. He stared in horror at the action he had taken, at the woman he had killed in pursuit of his twisted justice, his vengeance against the world that did not act towards him and his kind as he felt it should. He saw my blood dripping off of his weapon and he trembled. His lips worked back and forth, but he could say nothing.

"Go…my child…" Elthina rasped, her bright, grey gaze resting on Anders, pity and mercy in her eyes. "…sin…no more."

Anders turned his back to us, and fled. He fled from his actions, from his beliefs, from the horror of what he had done and who he had allowed himself to become. He fled from the forgiveness of a woman greater than himself, in spirit and in heart, and the life he had ended.

I could no longer feel my hands; could no longer staunch her bleeding as my fingers opened of their own volition and spasmed. Elthina's gentle eyes rested on mine. She saw the damage done to my body and knew, as I did, that neither of us would move from this place. Once again, her hand rested over mine.

"Rest…now." She murmured. "Your work…is done…and…beautifully…so."

I could not speak, could not think, could feel nothing but my blood slipping from my broken flesh and staining my clothes and my skin. I did not feel any pain, and I could not fathom why. I had been injured in this way before, and nearly perished from the agony of it all. I did not know why my mind would not accept these wounds, would not scream out in acknowledgment of my injury. I did not understand…

"Seeker," Elthina caught my attention once more, but her eyes did not rest on mine. They looked away, to the steps of this demolished house of worship. "Look. Your spirit…is here…the essence…of true…compassion. We are…we are…watched over…even now."

I looked to the steps and saw a figure there…my spirit, Elthina said. The one who had come to me when I emptied myself of everything but…but it did not seem right. I knew the form of the one who approached us. I knew her heart-shaped face, her cupid's bow lips, the delicate points of her ears, the golden hair that gleamed in the sun. I saw her green eyes, a green so bright and vivid that nothing in the natural world could replicate it.

 _Giselle…_ realization dawned slow, spilling into me as blood spilled from my body… _all of these years…it was you…you who found me…when nothing…of myself…remained. I have…never been without…you are… **you** are my spirit of compassion? _

Giselle knelt down beside Elthina. She smiled at the Grand Cleric and rested her hand over the worst of the woman's wounds.

"Well done." Giselle lauded the woman, moving strands of sweat-soaked silver hair away from Elthina's face. "Walk forward as ever you have done, without pain, and enter upon the rest you richly deserve."

The anguish in Elthina's features faded. Her eyes brightened and, to me, she looked as a woman once more young. Her body relaxed beneath Giselle's touch, her eyes closed, her lips murmured a parting prayer, and she departed this earth without pain. She journeyed into eternity, guided by the kindest hand, the most gracious touch I had ever known.

A whisper of wind brushed past my cheek and I felt Giselle's presence behind me. She rested a hand on my shoulder and placed a gossamer kiss on my cheek. Her arms wrapped around me, her hand pressed against the wound, infusing me with a sense that all had been accomplished, that soon I would know peace. She held me against her, feathering her other hand through my hair, calming me.

I could smell her and taste her on my tongue, all things good in this world. Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I had readied myself for this, but had not known it would come so soon. I waited for her to speak to me, to guide me into eternity as she had done for Elthina.

"Not just yet, trickster." She spoke her private name for me and my heart swelled in my chest. "It is not time yet." Desperation filled my eyes. She had sent me back into the waking world once before…I did not know if I could lose her a third time. Her soft smile comforted me. "Soon, yes, my darling. But not now."


	75. Chapter 75

**Salem**

I walked through hell yet again. All so similar. All so different. Well known to me were the stench of blood, the screams of the terrified, the faint, last gasps of the injured blown along by the wind. Familiar to me was the smoke that stained the sky, the fear stamped on the faces of those fleeing from danger, the sparkspit of magic shuddering through the air, and the sound of crackling flames.

Unfamiliar was the woman who strode at my side. An elf who used the blood in her veins to make her magic more powerful. An elf who longed to restore the history of her people. Their language. Their knowledge. Their gods. I knew her as a friend, but as we walked, ran, and fought through the madness of the city streets, it felt _wrong_. Wrong, because the last time I had faced damnation given form, chaos given a body and a voice, the woman who fought alongside me carried my heart. She carried the second half of my soul.

"She'll be here." Merrill spoke, beginning to lengthen her stride, though no matter how fast she walked her shorter height could not match mine. "Hawke is always at the center of the chaos."

"And an obliterated Chantry surely stands for such." I commented, my tone dry. We were approaching the stairs that led to the Chantry.

Even though I had borne witness to the Maker's physical forms, seen her true incarnation in dreams and in the waking world, I struggled to believe that she was so powerful as the stories and legends believed. Flemeth was some sort of god, and she moved in the world and created her own pockets of chaos and destruction. What manner of god needed to call prophets and take brides? What manner of god would let a woman die in order to claim the life of the one it had chosen?

 _I would have let Leliana fulfill her mission_ , I spoke to the god I thought of with distaste and disdain. _I would have gone with her. Helped her. Been part of this with her? In what part of your sick, twisted game did you decide that she should be alone? Are you a god unaware of your own power? Incapable of bringing a person beyond the Veil? If that is the case…why should I follow you?_

"I see Isabela!" Merrill cried, leaving me to run to those she knew and loved. Those who had become her new clan.

The lightness in her step did little to lighten my heart, but it did help. The darkness that had taken my life, the darkspawn taint that ruined all that I touched, had stolen from her as well. I could not help but wonder…if Duncan had been in the Brecilian forest that day, instead of Cousland Hall, might Merrill have known a different life? Might the one she loved those years ago have survived? Once, I would have believed the answer to such a question would never be known. That, however, had been a time when I believed death to be finite, a true end. No longer did I hold that belief.

I approached the variegated group that some would call heroes. They were nearly as varied as those who cast their lot with me during the Blight. Their hands were fidgeting, many resting on weapons. The pirate woman I recognized from the Pearl in Denerim paced back and forth, twirling her daggers in adroit hands that, one night, promised me an evening of pleasure. I denied her, for that night I desired but one thing. A love so sweet and terrible, so fleeting in the scope of years…

 _Two years with you, Leliana. That is nothing compared to the years that most live. Yet I would give anything I now have and that I possessed in my past to have those two years again._

"She should be back by now." Isabela looked to the stairs. "It is a ruin of stone; what more is there to be seen?"

"The despicable abomination that caused this." The dark, brooding elf, Fenris, stated. "Can any present truly be so naïve as to believe that he is guiltless in this?"

"I don't want to believe it." Hawke's oldest, and best, friend shook his head. "I don't want to believe it but there…there isn't anything else to believe."

"You can stop wondering." I looked up to the figure descending the stairs, the woman known as the Champion of Kirkwall, the statuesque beauty with raven hair and piercing blue eyes. Micah Hawke. "Because it's true. This," ashen and worn, she turned to the destruction behind her, "this was Anders' doing."

 _Then this is my fault,_ I thought, standing back from them, able to hear their words, unwilling to be seen. _I conscripted Anders into the warden order. He despised me. He despised me and I…I could not let him go his own way, for I knew him to be a murderer. Then he joined with Justice and…I should have killed him then. I should have slaughtered them the instant they merged into one hideous distortion of man and spirit. Instead, I saved my strength to kill the Mother. One monster dead; another allowed to live._

"Why is there no blood on your hands?" Fenris demanded. "Surely you ended his madness…" His words trailed away when Micah shook her head.

"How could you not!?" Isabela demanded, and I wondered when she had grown a conscience. She, who believed that escape from punishment was blessing to commit the crime. "Micah, how…"

"I couldn't." She spoke, and the lyrium tattoos etched on the swarthy elf's skin glowed as his eyes filled with rage. "I…I…I know he did this but..." She heaved the sigh of one who knew that they were damned and unable to do anything for it. "How many times did he save your life, 'Bela?" She asked. "How many times, Fenris?" The elf's frown deepened when faced with a truth he could not deny. "How many people in this squalid city has he _helped_? It might not be enough to outweigh the crime committed here, but _I_ owe him my life a hundred times over."

Isabela's eyes grew soft and I could see that, while she might not agree, she would attempt to understand her lover's reasons. She would stand beside Hawke, as would Merrill and Varric. As for the others, I did not know them well enough. I could not ascertain what their actions might be.

"The rest of you can do as you wish." Hawke muttered, dejected, perhaps even defeated. "I am going to the Gallows. Meredith will…she will know a mage did this. I can't leave Bethany there."

Saying nothing further, Hawke moved away from the Chantry, towards the Gallows where her sister lived. A prison and a hell. I, too, understood Micah's reasoning. I did not agree with it, simply because I once made the mistake of letting Anders live. Hawke's companions followed her, all but Merrill, who remained behind, looking at me.

"Won't you come with us?" she asked. "I have seen you in battle and I would…I would feel safer if you were there."

"I know." I moved away from the shadow in which I stood. "But I cannot go with you. There is something I must do."

Her wide eyes filled with realization. "You're going to…you're going to kill Anders, aren't you?"

Merrill deserved the truth. "I am going to repair a mistake I made long, long ago."

The elf's lips trembled. Her eyes welled with tears and a single one fell. "Good."


	76. Chapter 76

**Leliana**

I paced forth and back in Meredith's offices. All around me I heard whispers, low and choked with worry. I struggled to reinforce my heart, not to hear the words, not to read the lips. I could not let such things surround me, or it would distract me from where my mind must venture. What to do next. Where to place my feet…how to protect those I suddenly found requiring my protection.

 _These children…set upon by templars. Were it not for Kestrel, who can say how many of these innocent lives might have been snuffed out, simply because they had the misfortune to be born mages?_

I could not help but remember the Calenhad Circle. The templars pacing outside, itching to place their hands upon their steel…all save for the Knight Commander. I could see the pity in his eyes, even though it had been he who sent to Denerim for the Right of Annulment. Gregoir remained steadfast in his position, even though he had no desire to do so. He did not luxuriate in it, as did Meredith. Salem had been able to insinuate herself into the situation; convince Gregoir that she could end the madness without the wholesale slaughter of the mages.

 _There is no Salem here,_ I watched the Champion's sister whisper encouragements and instructions to Rylie as she bandaged the grievous wounds to Kestrel's body. _For all the good that Micah Hawke has done, she has been a reactionary force in this city. Never before has she prevented any of the madness that grips Kirkwall with a stranglehold. It cost the life of her mother. It tore her sister away from her. So many died when the qunari attacked. So many are perishing now._

 _There are no more heroes. Champions defend. Heroes protect. It matters not what many believe, the two are very, very different._

With those thoughts, I knew my place in this. I had been ordered to be in this place, neither to protect nor to defend. I had been placed here to watch and to report. And that was what I had done. The young mage, my _friend_ , who had been ripped apart by a templar's sword, was a protector. All these years in this hell, Kestrel had protected those in the Gallows who could not defend themselves. Now, she was surrounded by those she saved…and all that I could do was watch and observe their wide, worried eyes flicking to the desk where their protector lay silent. Wounded. Bleeding.

 _How many more protectors must I watch as they dance along the edge of death?_ I wondered. _How many more times will I simply_ _ **watch**_ _and_ _ **observe**_ _instead of acting as I have learned…instead of being like those set before me? Salem, my protector. Kathyra, my physician. Kestrel, my friend. Is it not time that I, too, become a protector…a role somehow lost to me after Salem died…after her heart found peace and no longer required protection?_

"We cannot stay here." I spoke at last, drawing Rylie and Bethany's attention. "We cannot stay in the Gallows. Nor can these children. That is why we will have no part to play in Meredith's downfall."

"No." Rylie shook her head, her black eyes sparking and vivid and full of resistance. "She cannot be allowed to walk away from this. If there truly is _justice_ in this world, then she will _pay_ for her crimes. No one deserves this madness foisted upon them."

"Meredith will pay, Rylie." I promised. "But she will not pay at the end of my arrows or your sword. We are not meant to be the names that are remembered here. I have seen my past and our future and we _must_ not be remembered from this place. We will save Kestrel. We will save these children. But we will not save Kirkwall, Rylie. It must fall. It must be destroyed."

Confusion pressed a crease in Rylie's brow. "Who are you?" she asked. "Where is the Hero of the Fifth Blight, Leliana? Where is the woman who asked me and Kestrel and Kathyra to come to Kirkwall and pursue a mission different than that which you were ordered to pursue? I do not see her standing before me."

"Because she is no longer there." I whispered, keeping my voice low so that the children did not hear. "Because the Hero of the Fifth Blight became the Left Hand. Because I cannot be Salem Cousland or Cassandra Pentaghast and rush into this fight. I came to the Gallows believing that I could, but when I attempt to be such a woman as they were and are, then those I love are hurt. I see now that I have labored these years under a delusion. I have done some good, yes. But I have done nothing to the degree of what you have done, what Kestrel has done, or what Kathyra has done."

"I don't…" Rylie trailed off, looking to her injured lover, beginning to see the destination to which my words would lead her. The realization so bitter that I did not wish to face it…I had no choice. Those I admired, those I loved, looked at the darkest parts of themselves, acknowledged the depths of their flaws, and moved forward, attempting to mend the hurt caused by their flaws first, for they knew that the altering of self took much longer than the reparations caused by harm.

"Do you understand now, Rylie?" I asked, knowing that the questions I asked would torment her, but knowing that they needed to be asked all the same. "Think back to the ship, those years ago. I could not keep you safe. I could not keep Kathyra safe. The arrow from my bow struck the abomination too late. They call me a hero of that blasted Blight because I followed one who knew true heroism. I myself am no hero, and it is time I cease wishing to be one and embrace what I know that I am."

In the back of my mind, I could hear Marjolaine's voice. Her intimate whispers to me as we lay together, wearing nothing but sweat and satiation. After the horror of my torment, after the recovery from my torture, I chased the demon of her voice away and refused to listen. Salem's voice drowned Marjolaine's completely. Salem's touch erased the bruises and scars. I had lost myself in Salem's love of me, and mine of her.

 _I can hear you now, Marjolaine. You told me, years ago, who and what I was. I believed you then, and after you betrayed me, I forced myself into_ _ **disbelief**_ _. I should never have completely ignored you, for you were right about one thing. I am not the one who saves. Even the Maker who called me knows this. Andraste failed for she stood too much in the light, clung too much to earthly, mortal joy. Mortal love. I cannot fail, for I stand in darkness. I cannot fail, because I am not meant to save, merely to be the emissary of salvation._

"I won't argue this with you now." Rylie spoke, breaking me from my thoughts. "Because the woman I love is in danger. These children are targets. What would you have us do?"

"When she became Divine, Justinia sent a ship to the Kirkwall harbor." I spoke. "That ship and its crew are under my orders. I sent a messenger bird to them before coming here. They are waiting for us where the ferry docks. You are to take Kestrel and these children to that ship. I will help you get there, then go back to the city for Kathyra. Order the captain to go back to the harbor and wait for us there. Bethany," I turned to the youngest of the Hawkes, "if you wish to come with us…"

"Micah will be here." Bethany shook her head. "I will not leave until she comes. I will not leave her behind."

"Then I pray the Maker keeps you safe." I said.

"When did you become terrifying, Sister Leliana?" Bethany asked. "You are the storyteller from Lothering; the woman who smiled and tended the gardens. What happened?"

"I walked with legends and believed I might become one." I murmured, watching as Rylie gave orders to the children, watching them stand, preparing to make a final, frantic dash for their lives. "I am a woman who attempted to be part of a story written; who failed to realize that mine is the hand that holds the pen, not the life which inspires it. Do not be afraid, Bethany." I whispered. "Your demon will fall this day. You will gain the life you lost…do not fear for your sister, for she is watched over. Those who defend; those who protect, always are."

"Leliana, we're ready." Rylie spoke, and when I looked she held Kestrel in her arms, unconscious and battered and still too close to death. I nodded to her.

"Move out."


	77. Chapter 77

**Kathyra**

The sky above looked so kind, in spite of the carnage it gazed down on. All continued above as though nothing had changed. The sky and the clouds and the sun and the moon cared nothing for the wounds of men. They were immune to the suffering and the death. They had their purpose, and they fulfilled it. I waited, now. I waited for my final purpose to be fulfilled so that I, too, could look down on this world and suffer from it no more.

The arms that held me were strong and reassuring. They were the dream that had walked with me for years…the dream that damned me and saved me, as love in its truest form so often did. In Giselle's viridian eyes I bore witness to the sky that I would walk into. With every flagging beat of my heart, I stumbled one step closer to the surety and strength she extended to me. She, who had given me everything of herself, even after she perished.

The fingers stroking through my hair were a lullaby from ages past, from a life once lived. In spite of the clamor still in the city, in spite of the stench of smoke and blood, I was filled with peace. I no longer felt fear. I no longer felt pain. Gisele's free hand rested over the wound in my stomach. I knew that her touch was all that stood between the loss and the poisoning of my blood.

Through the peace, a question appeared in my mind. The words Elthina spoke before her death. That my spirit, the spirit that found me in the wasteland and touched the emptiness within me, was present. I did not understand her claim. I found no other with me but Giselle. I needed to ask; needed to understand, even if I did not live to enlighten others.

"Giselle," Her name tasted sweet on my lips, erasing the tang of copper and salt. "Giselle…was it you…was it…"

"You are first in my heart, and it is my soul that you carry with you." Giselle whispered in her birdsong dawnstar voice. "We are one and the same. I have walked with you always, dear trickster, and when you let everything of yourself fall away, and forsook all else, I was the one thing you could not abandon, for the world of man has no control over the spirits. In answer to your question, my darling…yes. It was I who have been paired with you, soul to soul."

The knowledge, the realization, struck me, a bittersweet blow to all levels of my consciousness. I had not known. I knew only that pure compassion filled me when I reached that point of no return. I knew only that I came back to the Seekers as a woman changed. I went to the Seekers because I could not live simply as a physician. I could not fulfill the void that Giselle left when she departed this world.

"Is it…is it the same?" I asked Giselle as the sky began to darken, not because of the setting of the sun, but because my body knew it soon would slip away. "For all of us? Is it…the same?"

"Yes." Giselle leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to my brow. "Seekers are the children of loss. They know what it is to have something ripped from them, and it is because of this that they can find that place of loss yet again. Beyond the Veil, Kathyra, we are there as we were in life, if we are strong enough. There are truly good souls that I have seen who change and become something different, who allow themselves to be altered into darker imaginings of their once true selves. I can sense your thoughts and I can tell you that they are true. As my compassion reached out and touched you, so did Anthony Pentaghast and his faith return to Cassandra. This is why, so old, you were allowed to enter the ranks of the Seekers. Because you had lost. Because, somewhere, in the wasteland, there would be that which you could not lose, no matter how empty you became. Love lives on, Kathyra. Love is eternal. It is beyond death."

"Will we…"

"Yes." She smiled again. "It will be as it was before. We will walk in the fields of freedom, unchained from this earth and its pains and sorrows and sufferings. You, who have healed so many, will at last know what it is to be whole. That moment approaches. But another moment must come first."

" _Kathyra!_ " I heard my name, shrieked in a voice filled with desperation. A voice that comforted me on dark, cold nights. A voice that belonged to a woman who understood my pain in ways that none other could.

 _Leliana…_

" _ **Kathyra!**_ " she shrieked again and I wanted to raise my voice and cry out to her, draw her near to me, but I could not draw enough breath to raise my voice.

I heard the sound of footsteps, running faster and faster. I wanted to run to meet them. I wanted to lift my arms and embrace the woman who made my last years of life bearable. The woman who allowed me to love her. Who loved me in return. Her knees crashed into the rubble beside me; her eyes took in the blood soaking my clothes and pooling on the ground. I could see it in her eyes of ocean blue. She knew that nothing could be done to save me.

The bright blue of her eyes darkened to a stormy haze, a beauty all the more fierce for its desperation. A love all the more precious for its rarity. Her lips trembled. Her countenance paled. She seemed to age ten years within a moment.

"No." She choked out as tears trembled down her cheeks. "Kat…" her hands were everywhere, warm and reassuring, but capable of nothing. "Kat…please…I can't…I can't… _I can't lose you!_ "

The pain in her words made me, for the first time, feel the agony of my wounds. My body stiffened beneath the onslaught, and Giselle pulled me closer to her. I could see the sorrow in her eyes, but it was Leliana who held her gaze. My beautiful Giselle…grieving for the woman who cared for my heart. Grieving for the woman that I allowed myself to love.

"You must tell her, Kathyra." Giselle whispered to me. "You must tell her, because she is breaking inside of herself, and if you do not tell her now, there will be no time in which to do so. I know you promised, but the promise you made is one you have to break. Trust me, trickster. Trust me and tell her, because those will be the last words you speak."

I breathed, taking in as much air as I could. Leliana's hand rested on my cheek. Her tears dripped down her face, off of her jaw, and onto my heart, blooming across the bloodsoaked cloth like a flower of grief. A flower placed on the grave of a loved one.

"Leli…" I managed to croak, and my heart knew and my mind knew and my lungs knew that these would be my last breath. "I…love you…so much…forgive me…for leaving you…but…but do not _dare_ follow me."

"Kat…"

" _Don't_." I struggled to stress the world. "Please…because…I promise… _all_ that you desire…lies in _this_ world. _This_ world, Leliana."

"What are you…"

"Please don't hate me." The sky grew darker. Leliana's image began to fade away. I could feel nothing now but Giselle's hands resting over my heart, giving me the strength to speak my last few words. "It's not…your fault…my love."

"Kathyra, _please_." I heard the desperation in her voice and I wanted to weep for her. I did not have the time.

"Thank…you…Leliana." I gasped as Giselle moved away, no longer supporting my head.

She rose and stood, a beacon of light in a world that had turned to darkness. Her bright green eyes shone out like guiding stars. She extended her hand out and I took it, feeling whole once again. I rose to my feet, unable to keep from smiling down into my lovely physician's eyes, denied me for so long. My body knew no pain, no infirmity, no wound.

I looked down at the body I once inhabited, now an empty shell. Leliana knelt beside it, her shoulders heaving, her lips moving in words I was not certain I wanted to hear. I was leaving her behind. Giselle and I were reunited, and Leliana had nothing left in the world. I prayed that she would be able to understand what I had told her…that the one who held her soul, the truest love of _her_ heart lived and breathed again.

"It's time, trickster." Giselle squeezed my hand. "It's time to let go."

"She's in so much pain, Giselle."

"It is not pain that you can mend, my darling." My ever-wise physician counseled me. "Just as she cannot mend your pain. All you did for each other was care for the wounds. It is time you are healed."

"And for Leliana?" I asked. "When will her healing come?"

Giselle's eyes were dark and I knew that sorrow was known after death…it simply did not overwhelm.

"You know as well as I, Kathyra," Giselle began to walk away, and I followed her, "there are wounds that cannot be mended. These are wounds of the spirit. They are fatal wounds, yes…" she paused and glanced backwards at the heartrending tableau of Leliana's tears, "…but they do not kill."


	78. Chapter 78

**Leliana**

I could not do this. I could not. I could not rest here on my knees and allow this image to be stamped in my mind…but it existed there already, branded into my thoughts and memories just as heated irons had branded my skin years ago. I knew torture of the body. I knew torture of the spirit. What my eyes rested on now was not even torture. It was a torment so pure it nearly possessed sentience.

 _How can you be gone?_ I reached out and touched Kathyra's cheek. It felt warm against my palm, but her eyelids did not flutter, her lips did not part, she did not move. She would never do so again. I could not reconcile this…could not fathom. I fought my way here to bring her with me, to save her, to pro…to protect her.

"Come back, Kat." The words shuddered out of my mouth in a prayer I knew would go unanswered.

Her soul had journeyed beyond the reach of my voice. I knew this because I knew death. I knew death because, so often, I brought it to bear. I ended lives. I killed…I killed everything that I loved. The realization struck me with the point of a sword, the strike of an arrow, the heat of fire… _I_ was _poison_.

 _I did…my nightingale. In my…own way…_ Marjolaine's last words to me – a declaration of love.

 _Always, dear heart. Always…_ Salem's promise to me – that she would be there come the morning.

 _It's not…your fault…my love. Thank…you…Leliana…_ Kathyra's gift to me – the present of knowing that I was not to blame.

But I was. I killed everything that I touched. I killed my mother. I killed Cecile. I killed Marjolaine, and Salem, and now…now Kathyra. I wanted nothing but to love and yet…yet the heart that aligned itself with mine was doomed to certain destruction. I knew that now. I knew that with as much surety as I knew that I could defend nothing and protect no one.

"Prove me wrong." I begged my once-lover's lifeless form. "Kat, please prove me wrong. Open your eyes, I _beg_ you. Breathe. Speak. Please…please…"

I heard nothing. Even the sounds of battle in the city faded away into bleak silence, as though Kirkwall honored the passing of its physician. The woman who saved lives…who dared to love me…who took the poison of my heart and my mind and my touch into herself and let it kill her slowly so that it did not infect the world.

I reached down and lifted her beautiful, life-giving hand. I saw the myriad small scars etched in her skin, striations, patterns of a life lived in service and in _goodness_. Kathyra turned away from the life of a bard. She became a different woman, a _better_ woman. What had I done? What had I done but lie to myself and throw myself at the feet of those destined for greatness and drain them of life with my lies and insecurities and my _madness_.

 _What god would call a prophet with blood on her hands? What god would grant visions of the future to one who destroys the heroes capable of averting those futures? No god would do such a thing…I was too blind to see it, and Salem and Kathyra too kind to show me. I am nothing but a madwoman spouting fantasies and seeing flowers of spring in bloom…not realizing that it was blood from my own skin as I impaled my grasping fingers upon the thorns._

My entire body trembled, with rage and with fear and with the swarm of hell itself behind my eyes. I let it crawl into my blood, let it feast upon my bones and my veins, and the heart that bled in torrents. Love had not saved me. Love had saved the world _from_ me, a force of sheer destruction. I had hidden in that love, in that safe, warm place. I had hidden from myself and from the reality too cruel to face until I saw it laid before me in the body of a woman with a beautiful spirit and kind hands and a soul valiant enough to struggle against death.

Kathyra's lips were turned slightly upward, a small smile, a peace in her open eyes. I witnessed that same smile, that same peace once before, on the face of Salem Cousland. Both of those who had shielded this world from me, who had allowed themselves to be poisoned with the bitter, tainted wine that was my love, smiled as they walked into the next world. Smiling because they were free from the pain of my hand squeezing the life out of their brave, gentle, valiant hearts. How could they give so much to the world when I suffocated them every waking moment? How could they live for years with poison coursing through their blood?

I leaned down and, with trembling lips, pressed a kiss to Kathyra's brow. My tears anointed her hair. I could not fall. There were still those who waited for me, who believed in me…who loved me. I needed to save them. I needed to get them to a place where they would be cared for and where they would be _away_ from me. Val Royeaux…there would be healers there to care for Kestrel, and Rylie could return to the templars. I had damaged them enough in my madness. I would not see their young lives snuffed out. I would save them…in honor of Kathyra, I would save them.

"I promise you, Kat." I whispered a final promise. A final vow. "I promise you. I will _never_ love again."

The words of my oath held a pleasing finality, and I knew that I had spoken at last with wisdom and with truth and with caring. I would poison no more. I would harm none other. To love me was to die. I would not kill again. Nor would I indulge the insanity within me that believed I spoke for a god and enacted her will. I would bear the pain of my visions alone, as it should have been from the beginning. They were nothing but a madwoman's delusions.

"You, too, have lost." I heard a rich, dark voice behind me. I turned to see one of the Champion's companions. The former Tevinter slave. Fenris.

"Yes." My words sounded hollow and cold inside my chest. "I have lost."

"I know who has taken from you." He told me. "And if you will give me passage from this damned city, for I know you have a ship, I will tell you the name."

"I know already." I muttered. "And trust me, I _will_ see him dead."

"I would aid you, but he knows me too well. He can manipulate the lyrium in my skin." Fenris continued, and I wanted to cut his throat out for intruding upon my grief. "Let me carry your friend to your ship so that you might seek true justice, and rid this world of its falsehood."

I rose to my feet and walked to the elf. Before he could act, I grasped him by his jerkin and pulled him to me, eye to eye. "Honor her." I growled, and I could see the spark of fear in his eyes, for in his land he _knew_ the madness that drove decent men to do unspeakable things, and he saw that madness within me. "If you do not, I _swear_ I will cut out your ribs, sharpen them, and use them to slice the rest of your skin from your body. Piece. By. Piece."

"Kill the abomination." He replied, no trace of fear in his voice. I applauded him.

I sealed our accord by thrusting him away from me and running towards the place a coward would flee. The docks, where he would stowaway on a ship and run from his actions as he had run from the Grey Wardens. I would slaughter the mage, yes. But that would grant Kathyra no justice. She would not know proper avenging until the day a cold blade pierced my poisoned, colder heart.

 _Never again shall I know love…unless there exists a heart in this land that can break the laws of death...but surely I jest. No such heart exists. Not even in the legends. I shall keep my promise, Kathyra. I will never love again. I will never kill again._


	79. Chapter 79

**Salem**

I watched a man pace back and forth on the docks, in front of a ship I knew all too well. Merrill had shown it to me, telling me the story of how Hawke and Isabela won the ship from a dangerous smuggler from the pirate woman's past. The fact that Anders paced before it told me all that I needed to know. In his mind, he believed that mercy shown once would extend further to forgiveness. I watched him walk, and I despised him. This man who would be king. This man who would be god. This man who would be savior.

 _He is the man you chose to save, Salem,_ my thoughts reminded me. _You stand in the detritus of his impact upon the world, all because you allowed him to live. Because once you pardoned an assassin and found in him a friend. Because once you pardoned a bard and found in her the second part of your soul. You believed too much. You hoped too far._

Anders continued his pacing and I watched him. His shoulders were sagging, his steps labored. His hair was out of its usual tie and hanging lank about his face, soaked with sweat, covered in dust and ash and rubble. His hands were free of blood…his hands had always been free of blood. The blade of his staff, however, was stained a rich crimson. This time, he'd not been able to kill from a distance. I wondered whose blood at last remained with him as a reminder of his crimes.

He stopped his movements, looking up and staring at the ship, its name painted on the archboard in swirling, bombastic letters, indicative of the captain herself. I could see Anders' brows furrowing, his eyes raking the ship back and forth, forth and back. He would have no choice but to stowaway onboard _that_ ship. No other choice but the one I would give him.

"Do you really think that Hawke will show you mercy yet again?" I asked, remaining in the shadows, waiting to see if he would recognize my voice, damaged from disuse as it was. "Do you truly believe that what you have done is above reproach; that you took the actions you did as part of some holy agenda?"

"Where are you!?" Anders shouted, turning and looking across the deserted docks, gripping his staff in front of him. " _Who_ are you!?"

"The real monster." I answered. "The one who let you remain a man and, in so doing, allowed a broken spirit to exist in a world that his fragile psyche could not surmount. I have seen a blessed union of mortal and spirit…not this raving, monstrous, lunatic hybrid that you have allowed yourself to become. The first faults were mine. The latter were yours."

" _Show yourself!"_ Anders shrieked, his eyes flashing with the bright blue of the spirit of justice within him. A spirit who, in communion with the mage, had been twisted and warped into this _monster_ that demanded blood when he could not scream loud enough for his voice to be heard.

I closed my eyes, breathed deep, and removed the mask from my face. I felt that I could no longer wear it. I could not hide myself from the man that I must kill…for he had taken the lives of many others. I could not hide my true face from the monsters it seemed my duty to rid the world of. I moved out of the shadows and into the sun, holding my naked blades in my hands. Anders' eyes followed the sound of my footsteps. He looked down at my boots, then followed the path upwards, at last seeing my face. Once again, the blue lightning of his spirit flared in his eyes. His upper lip curled in disgust.

"You!" He shouted and I could feel the hatred bubbling out of his words. He made that single word into a triumphant litany of my sins. "You're supposed to be _dead_! The entirety of Thedas mourned your worthless carcass and I _laughed_! I _laughed_ because I know what in hell you really are! You think what I've done is reprehensible!? You're the one that made me do this!"

"I'm the woman who kept a monster alive, Anders." I told him, remembering those years past, the arguments that had taken place between us, from the moment I conscripted him into the Grey Wardens to the horrific moment when I watched him merge with Justice and threaten to slaughter me. "You are the man who chose to remain a monster."

"If anything, Salem Cousland," He spat my name, " _you_ are the monster! Standing before me after the world mourned you!? What devilry _is_ that!?"

"The kind I cannot hide from." I admitted. "But neither will I slaughter countless innocents because of the devilry visited on me by an outside force."

"You cannot moralize." Anders shook his head, fierce. "Not to me. You cannot make yourself be in the right of any of this. I did what I had to do to _survive_."

"No, you didn't." I shook my head. "If you had, you would have remained with the Wardens. There, you might have _survived_. Instead, you fled here. You pretended to be a healer to ease the raw ache of your throbbing, putrescent conscience. There is no going back from what you have done here, Anders."

"You don't understand you daft, fucking trollop!" Anders drew himself up, holding his mage's staff in a ready stance. "It wasn't _me_. It was _Justice_!"

"Yes it was." I nodded my head, stunning him into silence, at least for a moment. "It was justice, Anders. Pure, simple, and absolute. But it was justice without mercy, and without mercy present to _temper_ justice, it becomes tyranny. Tyranny begets cruelty. Cruelty begets damnation. I am your damnation, Anders, for I am here to mete out true justice. Hawke showed you mercy. I will not."

The staff moved, from an offensive hold into a defensive one. Anders had seen me in combat. He had witnessed the enemies I brought down. He knew me well, but he had never respected my determination, never understood my mercy until this very moment, when he needed it himself. He would not find it, for I gave it to him once, so long ago, and he now proved unworthy.

"This _needed_ to happen, Salem." He stressed the words. "The world _needed_ to see! Thedas has been blind for _so_ _ **long**_. They are _afraid_ of us! They jail us! They torture us! They rip our souls out of our bodies on a fucking _whim_! This _cannot_ stand!"

"All the things that you say are true." I advanced towards him, measured step by measured step, waiting for his body to indicate if he would lash out, or retreat further. "But you have not made them see, Anders. You have not healed their blindness. You have given them the reason for their fears, you have given them historical reference to continue their cruelty. _You_ have become the reason that mages will continue to be feared until their sole recourse for freedom is _bloodshed!_ You have damned those you tried to save and you _dare_ believe that you still deserve the breath you draw. You. Are. Despicable."

"And who are you to tell me such a thing!?" Anders demanded. "You did _so_ many questionable things during the Blight, but you killed the _bloody_ dragon, so I guess that makes you right!? You're no paragon of morality, Cousland, so by what right, authority, or power do you _dare_ judge me!?"

"I own what I have done, Anders." I lifted my swords. "I know the questionable things I have done. I know the crimes I have committed. I am well aware of the lives that I have ruined. I do not hide behind the beauty of my intentions, Anders, nor do I use any end to justify its means. I know that the words I speak now make it seem as though I am holding myself above you, but I do not. In my own way, Anders, I, too, am a monster."

"Then what right have you to hold those blades against me!?" He demanded, taking a step backward. I noticed his staff beginning to tremble, but I did not know if his hands shook with either fear or anger. Both were dangerous.

"The right of the one who allowed you to be free in this world." I told him. "We all have the right to repair our mistakes."

"By that logic, you should let me live!" He screamed, and the staff in his hand ceased trembling.

"No." I shook my head, breathed deep, and prepared myself. These would be my last words to him. "Because, Anders, you do not see that the atrocity you have committed is a mistake. And, if you are honest with yourself and with me, I do not think you ever will."

His eyes flashed once more to that unholy blue and magic crackled around his body. "You're right at that, Cousland." A zealot's smile struck his lips. "You're right at that."


	80. Chapter 80

**Leliana**

These streets were haunted. Waking corpses walked them, wondering what had happened to their lives. To the air they once breathed with feckless, carefree instinct. I felt them gathering around me, crowding me, wearing the faces of those whose lives my hands had stolen. Two sisters walked with me, one on each side. Marjolaine strode beside me on my left hand, the woman who taught me secrets and deceptions and lies and betrayal and rape and torture. On my right I felt Kathyra's presence, a soothing balm in all things. The woman who helped heal my heart and guide my steps and change me from a broken thing into a woman of purpose.

My hands had not held the weapons that ripped them from this world, but their blood covered my hands, seeping down through the pores into my own veins and whispering, always whispering, in the delicate accent of Orlais, my failures and my triumphs. I prayed to their spirits to guide my steps.

I prayed that Marjolaine would help me find the one I sought, the one who committed the atrocity of wholesale _slaughter_. The bitter vengeance that drove my former bardmaster would guide me to the mage. Already I could smell his blood on the air and feel it pouring across my skin. The glory that would be the joy of feeling my knives pierce his flesh, the sick, squelching sound of steel ripping upwards, grating against bone as it tore away the life that remained.

I prayed that Kathyra would help me find resolution. That her beautiful mind could help me understand that, in killing the mage Anders, I had rid Thedas of an infectious disease. Healing magic could not combat illness. The body itself must work and struggle to purge the diseases within. I would purge the rotting infection of the abomination from this city. There was no magic in that. Kathyra would understand. She would forgive. She would help my spirit find something resembling peace, as true peace would never be mine again.

Yes, the spirits walked these streets. They walked them with me. But these spirits were not the dead of Kirkwall; not the tortured souls that scratched and scrabbled and clawed to carve a life out in this city of cruelty and chains. Those spirits did not accompany. Instead, I walked with those that _my_ hands had ended. They were my ghosts, and they were myriad. They poured through the streets like a tidal wave, preceding me and trailing me with undulating waves. A river of phantom blood.

The one I sought, however, did not appear. At my side were Marjolaine and Kathyra. Beside them were Lady Cecile and a woman with no face…a face I could not remember for it left me when I was so young. My first kill; the woman who gave me life. The first murder of many. Those near to me wore the faces of my victims, but I could not find Salem among them. I sought her out in the throng, amid the waves, but I could not see her.

I wanted to feel hope from that knowledge. Hope that, perhaps, I had not killed her. That her death belonged to her as did the second half of my soul. However, I knew that to be a lie. All of it. Lies. The moment we first kissed I damned Salem Cousland to an early grave. My wedding vows to her were also a funerary benediction. She walked away from me and died beneath the earth. She buried herself, but I killed her.

My blades made my hands itch. The steel of the weapon sang, a driving battle thrumming war drum that pushed me through the streets. First, the elongated pace. Then, the pulse of the heart, the knock-clack of blood behind the ears. I moved faster, breaking into a run. I ignored the voices that surrounded me. They cried for their losses. They cried for help. They cried because they hurt. They cried because they were human and because their hearts had not been made numb to the inevitability that _life_ gave _nothing_. And if life gave nothing…did it mean nothing as well? Perhaps I would learn, at the end of my race. When my singing steel slipped between Anders' ribs and struck at his worthless, blackened heart.

 _How fitting_ , thoughts lingered in my mind, choking me like volcanic ash, _that a murderer should destroy the man who slaughtered Kirkwall. The Chant of Light is a lie. It would have us believe that the forces of light marched out against the forces of evil, when in fact the opposite is true. Light does nothing to darkness except scatter it into shadows. Only another form of darkness can invade those shadows and choke out the evil from within…but when the strangulation is successful, what then does the shadow do? It will be splintered by the light, so it has no choice but to go further, deeper down into its own, self-created damnation._

Thus, I ran. I ran until I could hear the waves of the sea beating against the docks, slapping the wooden ships of slavery and salvation. My ship waited in the harbor. It would bear the dead and the dying to Val Royeaux. There, perhaps, I would be free to wash my hands of all the blood upon them. There, perhaps, once again, I could slip into the shadows. I was not light, not hero, not savior, not prophet. But I would let Justinia guide me. She knew the light…and I would be her emissary in the darkness, bearing her torch before me, poisoning those who threatened her.

I heard the crackle of lightning in the abandoned docks and my eyes turned towards the noise. The mage Anders stood, his back to me, his body flaring with the despotic energy of the spirit living within his flesh. I could hear his words, screams cast into the air. They were shouts of beautiful idealism. They were cries of victory. The man spoke with the voice of Justice and it was _transcendent_. His symphony fell on deaf ears. He _stole_ from me. He took a truly _good_ woman from this world and _nothing_ he could do, should he exert all the power of Justice and spill all of his blood, would bring Kathyra back.

I gripped my daggers and moved forward, listening to his one triumphant scream.

" _You are forever condemned to the fires of the abyss!_ " He raised his hands and flames bloomed from them, a destructive fire…the fire that had taken Kirkwall by storm and taken much that was dear to me.

I watched, shocked as I saw another flower bloom…a crimson rose, bursting across his back, the thorns belonging to the steel protruding from his body. His blood spilled in petals, soaking his robes. The thorns were removed with a sharp, clean sound, a resonating cymbal-crack across the lapping waves. Anders' crumpled to his knees, but it was not I who struck the killing blow. The one who did towered over him, obscured by the flicker-fire of the fading spell.

A voice came to my hearing…a voice from the dead, a voice that did not belong. "You never did learn, did you, Anders?" It asked, strong and imperturbable and _not_ human. " _I don't burn_."

Two strong arms were raised, and I recognized the swords they held, for I had ordered their forging. With a broad stroke, the blades flew through the air and ripped through Anders' neck…a final judgment rendered, a vengeance I could no longer take for myself. The man's severed head fell on the ground and blood fountained from his neck, spattering the face of his killer.

I remained stuck to the ground and the army of the dead surrounding me faded in a single breath. No one stood beside me as Anders' killer walked forward, towards me. I would know that walk, even after seven ages. Competent, confident, unwavering. Every step certain. Every step sure. I would know the hands that gripped the blades, one covered in spiderwebs of blue scarring that never faded. I would know the eyes that looked at me, a piercing silver blue.

And I would know it for a _lie_. A demon of desire stood before me, cloaked in the body and the face of a dead woman.


	81. Chapter 81

**Salem**

I felt the heat of the fire that could not burn me. I felt the blood dripping off of my swords and staining the docks. I felt the wind whipping across my face, flogging me with its presence, permanence, and transience. I felt the weight of my life fall from my shoulders, but the burden was not one I wished to release. I stood before the woman I loved, the spark of hope in my heart, the brilliant, all-consuming all-encompassing reason and purpose and being for my soul and I…I wanted to run.

I wanted to flee into the shadows, tie my mask once more about my face and make certain that this moment did not happen; had not happened; would never happen. I could not. I had never run from anything in my life, and I would not do so now. Not even when I saw the pain and confusion swirling in her eyes…deep pools of blue in which I once drowned. I knew the sorrow within them; knew that in her heart she felt an ache that pierced bone deep and radiated out from her heart into all other parts of her being. I knew, for I had been the cause of that sorrow and that hurt far too often.

"Leliana…"

"Do _not_." She raised a hand, a hand in which she held a lethal weapon, to silence me. "Do not _dare_ attempt to speak to me, whatever it is that you are. You might have mastered her face, her body, and her walk, but you have _not_ mastered her voice and I will _not_ suffer the deceit from your lips against my ears! Whatever abyss you have come from, whatever hell beyond the Veil, return there now! What would possess a demon of desire to come to me now, even if I _did_ wish that man dead!"

Leliana's eyes flew to Anders' body, and I could see her heart. I could see it in the stance I knew all too well; witness it in the expressions that I committed to memory years ago. The trembling of her lips, the white knuckled grip of her hands around the hilts of her daggers, the screams hiding in the oceans of her eyes. She grieved. She grieved and her pain was raw, instinctual, and gnawing away at her innermost self, tearing her apart from the inside with sharp claws, gnashing fangs, and rusted blades. Something precious had been stolen from her this day, and the fault for it rested at Anders' feet.

 _She believes me to be a demon of desire. I could allow her to believe such. I could pursue the ruse and allow her to go her way thinking that I am some form of monster sent to haunt her. All of these things I could do, but I will not. She is deserving of the truth. We have come to this moment and this place for a reason, and I can no longer hide. Nor will I, no matter how much anguish that might spare her._

"He stole from you…"

"Is _that_ why you are here!?" Leliana all but shrieked, the pain in her voice tearing me asunder. "Is that why you have come to me, wearing the face of an old lover when another that I loved lies dead, her corpse not even cold!?"

 _Oh Maker…Kathyra. Anders has killed Kathyra. No. No! This should_ _ **not**_ _have happened! How could this have happened? Has Leliana not lost_ _ **enough**_ _!?_

I wanted to walk to her, to pull her in my arms, to hold her against the storm of the world. I knew that she would recognize my embrace. I knew also that she would not welcome it. Standing here, before her now, I was a creature of evil and the embodiment of loss. As much as I wanted to care for her, bind her wounds in this moment as she had bound mine countless times, such was not my place. Not when she could not even realize that I was no demon.

"I am here because life has been unkind." I breathed the kindest truth I could offer her, and it tasted bitter on my lips.

"And because you might make it better for me." She scoffed, but the hands gripping her daggers no longer clutched them so tightly. Instead, they trembled as her face fell and her hair shielded her features.

"I cannot make this better for you, Leliana." I spoke and her eyes snapped upwards, fixing on me, once more swarming with confusion and pain. "I cannot take from you what has been done. I cannot turn back time and erase your loss. I cannot even invade your mind and convince you to see the world with new eyes. I am no demon."

Her upper lip curled into a sneer. "Just what one of your kind might say to inveigle me further. Do not forget, I _saw_ your ilk in the mage's tower in Lake Calenhad. I watched one of your sick plays as one of your sisters convinced a templar that he had the life he had always wanted; that he was not surrounded by death and darkness and madness."

"And I let them go." I spoke, wondering when the horrid light of realization would strike her eyes and she would know me for the truth of who I was. "I let them go, for the man was unharmed and his mind was broken by the madness around him. When it was finished, when it was done and Uldred dead, you saw Alistair strike me. You listened to him scream at me about letting a demon take a templar captive. You saw me do nothing but allow him to vent his anger, and later, you cared for my bruises and whispered in my ear that you understood."

"How could you know…" Leliana took a step backwards, her eyes darting back and forth, her chest rising and falling with rapid, almost frantic breaths. She had not yet met my gaze, for she knew that one true way to be ensnared by a demon of desire was to look into their eyes. If one did so, they would not find their way free with ease, for the pleasure of the illusion was so great. "You are invading my mind and pulling this from my memories!" She accused me. "Show me your true form and _stop_ wearing her face!"

I closed my eyes and begged forgiveness. I closed my eyes and remembered the happier times. I closed my eyes and prayed to any god that would hear that, someday, I might be forgiven. I begged the Maker who loved Leliana to take whatever pain afflicted her and give it to me. I would bear it with joy and carry it with pride.

"This is my true form, Leliana." I murmured, and tears sprang to my eyes at how sweet her name tasted upon my lips. "If you doubt me, look into my eyes."

"No." She shook her head, ever beautiful, ever defiant. "I will not do it. I will not fall into your trap and become lost in your illusions ,no matter," her voice cracked, "no matter how beautiful they might be."

"It will not be beautiful." I promised her. "You will hate me."

"That…" Her voice trembled and soon, I knew, both of us would be standing, but shattered. "…that is something no demon would say."

 _No. It is not. Look at me, Leliana. Look at me and let this moment come. If not now, it will happen later, and perhaps the pain would be less…but it might be greater. I love you too much to lie to you. Hiding was a different matter, but now that you have seen me…I promised never to lie to you. Forgive me for that, dear heart._

Leliana's eyes lifted to mine. Her face drained of blood and her lips trembled. Her eyes grew dark and stormy with horrors as she relived every agony and anguish she had ever known. In my gaze she saw her life of pain and tears slipped down my cheeks for I knew that it was _I_ who tortured her anew. It was _I_ , who knew the full depth and breadth and scope of her suffering, that revisited it upon her. The memories were so horrific, the tragedy so great, the landscape so _obscene_ that she could not tear her eyes away. She continued deeper and deeper into the pit, falling and falling and I could not catch her or arrest her fall. I could, however, close my eyes and end her torment.

I let the world go dark around me. I did not wish to open my eyes again, for fear that hers would meet them. At least now she would know that no demon besieged her. That I did not seek to make a mockery of her losses. At least now she would know of the greater cruelty in store for her. I wanted to scream at the gods, to lash out at the heavens in my anger. I could do nothing of that sort. I could but stand here and weep, for I had inflicted yet more pain upon the woman who deserved never to hurt again.

I stood and let my tears pour out from behind closed eyes. I dropped my blades to the ground, for I could not defend myself against whatever might happen. I lost that right when I asked her to meet my gaze and dragged her backwards into hell. I heard footsteps on the cobblestones and felt her energy near me as I always could. I could smell her, beyond the scent of smoke and blood and death. I could smell Andraste's Grace.

I heard the sound of a blade entering a sheath and then felt a warm, quavering hand on my body, above my left breast, resting over my heart. Her touch seared through me and I knew then that I had lied to Anders. I did, indeed, burn. I dared to open my eyes, unafraid of the tears that fell from them still. Leliana would surely know now. Demons did not weep. They could not.

The hand above my heart moved, sliding up, over my shoulder, down my arm, and ending by holding my hand and lifting it. I could feel her breath rush over the wedding ring embedded in my skin, a brand I could not remove, nor ever would. I waited and felt darkness come closer. I waited and, within my mind, begged her to understand the truth of this moment. The truth of my life.

The hand holding mine withdrew and she stepped back, leaving some distance between us. I could see the prayers behind her eyes and wished that they would be answered. I knew that she raised her voice in supplication to the Maker, pleading that this not be real. Her prayer would go unanswered. The truth could not be undone.

Leliana looked at me, then to the hand with which she felt my heartbeat. Her lips trembled once more.

"S—S—Salem?"


	82. Chapter 82

**Leliana**

Her name shuddered out past my lips, hanging in the open air like a death sentence soon to be pronounced. I could not make sense of what was happening. Not a moment ago, I stood near her. I felt the beating heart beneath her skin. I could smell her...leather, steel, smoke, and blood. Always, the iron scent of blood hovered around her, even when it was not spattered across her face as it was now. Anders' blood. Blood that was _mine_ to shed, to spill upon the ground but I…I could not. Somehow, in this impossible circumstance, it was Salem who once again took the life of my enemy; of one who had stolen from me.

"I cannot grasp this." I whispered, too afraid to look into her face, for her eyes had changed yet again. What once were scars had become gaping wounds and when I looked into them I saw every torment, every torture, every nightmare that haunted me. "You were…you are…" The confusion bombarding me became a knot of anger inside of my chest, demanding to be given voice. " _I felt you die!_ " I shouted, another voice raised in anger on this day, a day that would surely be remembered as the moment when a world fell apart. " _I felt you die and I_ _ **mourned**_ _you!_ " Pain made the words harsh; claws that reached out and sought to tear Salem asunder.

My entire body trembled, threatening to shake me apart. For the first time in years, I did not know what to do. I _had_ felt her die, and felt my spirit crushed beneath the weight of her departure, a stoic and silent parting, pure in its intent and powerful in its quiet. It might have destroyed me, had our love not made me so _strong_. But I did not know if I possessed the strength to endure _this_. I did not know if I could even bear to ask the questions…and I feared the answers. I feared the answers so _very_ much.

"I know." She spoke and her voice sounded so _damaged_ , as if her vocal chords had all but atrophied. Her tones were always low and her accent rough, but this was something entirely different. "I know, Leliana." My name passed her lips and now, now that I knew it was _her_ , my heart exploded with the heat and pain of a dying star collapsing in on itself, screaming as it fell through the sky to its final rest.

"Is that all you will say!?" The pain was too great. I could not allow myself to feel it or I would break, and there were those who needed me still. Even as Madness, even as Poison, there were those relying on me to see them safely home. I could not shatter. I could not falter. _I. Could. Not. Lose._ "You stand before me now whole, in the flesh, with a beating heart and all you can give me are but a few paltry words and the _damnation_ in your eyes!?"

"What would you have me say?" She asked, so very _Salem_ an answer that tears sprang to my eyes. "I could quote reams of poetic words that speak of fates and destinies and how love, in its magnificent power, could circumvent them all. I could deliver litanies of legend, describing how I turned my back on heaven and peace and rest once again to return to this war torn world. All of this I could grant you, but I will not, for it is not the truth, and I have never lied to you. The question, Leliana, is, do you _wish_ to hear the truth from me?"

We stood here now, and it reminded me of another moment. A moment in which I had been so afraid and angry that I railed against Salem. That I struck her and screamed my wrath and my fear into her heart and into the vast cold of the mountains. She did nothing then but love me, wrap me in her arms, and when I could bear her kindness no more, she allowed me to leave her, without anger or resentment. I knew that I could do so now. I knew that I could turn from the truth and _run_ and return to the life I knew without her. I knew that I could do these things, but Kathyra's last words to me were emblazoned across my heart, whispering in my ears, and I realized that somehow, somehow…Kathyra _knew_.

 _Please…because…I promise…_ _ **all**_ _that you desire…lies in_ _ **this**_ _world._ _ **This**_ _world, Leliana._

"How did Kathyra know?" The questions tumbled past my lips for if…for if Kathyra _had_ known, then why did she not _tell_ me? Why did she omit this great and perilous truth and let me continue in this world _blind_!?

"Years ago, when the qunari attacked Kirkwall," Salem began, and my heart thundered in my chest, for I could sense the ending of this story as Salem spoke to me of its beginning. "I was here." She stated, and my body went numb. "I followed you, saw you attacked, wrapped myself around you and took two arrows."

 _Strong arms embracing me, the smell of something familiar, then nothing._ I remembered that terrifying day. _Kathyra leaving the Hawke estate, telling me to return home. She said she found the man who saved me…she told me he was dead…_

"Do not be angry at Kathyra." Salem whispered, reading my mind in the damnable manner that belonged to her alone. "She wished to tell you, but I would not allow it. I forced her to lie, so that you would not know."

"How _dare_ you!?" I shrieked. "You were _dead_ and now you are standing before me and…you have been _alive_ these many years and you did _nothing_ but _watch_ me from the shadows and ask the woman I loved to _lie_ to me!? How _dare_ you!?"

"I dared because I, too, _love_ you, and...and because I know the truth." She said in her stern, unfaltering manner. Now, the same as years ago, it caused my heart to race and my breath to freeze in my lungs. "I know the truth of why I live again, and it is a truth I did not wish you to know. But now that we stand here, I have no choice but to give that truth to you, if you wish to hear."

"I do."

"You truly do not." Salem murmured. "I beg you now to turn your back and erase this moment from your memories. Commit me to death once again and return to your life, to your calling, and to what you were meant to be and to do. Please, Leliana. Please do not ask for this."

"You have _no_ right to tell me that or to ask such a thing of me." I spat, becoming more infuriated by the moment. I could see the tracks of tears on her cheeks, but she still remained _unmoved_ and I could not _stand_ that. "If the Maker saw fit to…"

"No." Salem shook her head and with her hair shorn, the movement looked _wrong_. In my mind's eye, I could see her long, dark hair ghosting across her features. "The Maker had no part in this adulteration of life and love and fate. The god you trust…"

"You _are_ lying." I realized, stepping back, gripping my weapon, doubting Salem once again. Many things she had done, much pain she had caused, but she had _never_ lied to me. Until, perhaps, this moment. She demanded that Kathyra lie to me and time could...time could change even the staunchest heart. "Who else, what else…"

"There are other gods in this world, Leliana." Salem reminded me, and I could do nothing but believe her, for I had watched her strike one down and nearly die from it. "The one who returned me to this world, who did so against my will, repaired the heart torn asunder by a darkspawn blade and cleansed the taint from my blood…"

At those words, my world and my understanding of it splintered into a million catastrophic shards. I knew all of the Grey Warden legends. I learned them when young and pursued further knowledge when one of their order claimed my heart for her own. In no tale but _one_ was the taint cleared from a warden's blood, and no scholar who pursued that history was ever given the truth of it. Salem stood before me now and…and her words _must_ have been true. Her Calling had come too early because of the effect of an archdemon's blood mingling with and poisoning her own. I _felt_ her die. Had she been brought back, with the taint still flowing through her veins, she would be…she would not be standing before me.

Salem said nothing further and I felt the blow of a war hammer crush my heart, pulping it within my ribs. A god had removed the taint from her blood and brought her from death into life again. Had it been the Maker, the god who called me by name and chose me for her prophet, Salem would surely tell me. She would have no reason to lie and yet…and yet…

"No." I shook my head, furious, hurting, desperate to believe something other than the cruel truth dawning in my mind at this moment. Desperate to pray and call down the god who chose me, who pierced my skull with visions, who scarred my lip so that I would know I was _hers_ and hers alone. A jealous god. A jealous god who claimed her first prophet failed, because Andraste never made a defined choice between mortal love and divine. "You're wrong. You _must_ be wrong! She…She placed my hand within yours; she _blessed_ our union, she…"

"She spoke to me." Salem lifted the words my voice could no longer carry. "For a time, warden. Cherish." Salem reiterated the Maker's words to her. "We were allowed our time, Leliana, and then…"

"You were allowed to die." I felt sick. My gut clenched, my body shivered as though I were going into shock. "You were allowed to die so that I could…so that I would not _fail_ as Andraste did."

Rage poured into my spirit and I did not know which way to turn. The god I loved, followed, and _trusted_ had…had betrayed me. I, who knew betrayal with an intimacy that none should ever have, who had been torn apart by traitorous hands and lips and words, had been treated so again. The Maker could have healed Salem, could have drawn the taint from her blood and given us a _true_ life together. Instead, Salem and I had become pawns in a greater Game and her _death_ had been nothing but _divinely premeditated_ _ **murder**_.

 _All so that I would follow. All so that I would return to Val Royeaux with a message of love upon my lips and a fire burning in my heart, for I was_ _ **grateful**_ _for the year Salem and I were given and I believed we had been shown_ _ **kindness**_ _and_ _ **mercy.**_

"Leliana, stop." Salem beseeched me, but I could not listen. I could not move as she took a step forward, invading where she had no right to be.

I did not know who to trust. Salem never lied to me but the Maker…the Maker had _chosen_ me. I was the prophet of a new age. I was meant to _repair_ the damage Andraste's failure brought upon Thedas. Salem had gone to her Calling, and I to mine. Surely this, her, here, was a lie. It had to be a lie. It mattered not if Salem spoke the truth. It did not matter that she appeared to be _herself_. Some _god_ had brought her into my life to break my faith, to destroy my mission, to alter my _Calling_.

 _I cannot allow this to happen. I cannot let myself fail. Surely the Maker is aware. Surely_ _ **she**_ _would not lie to me. This is some great deception from an angry god, a jealous and demanding god, a god who_ _ **lies**_ _. I cannot weigh mortal nature against divine. I_ _ **cannot**_ _. Salem is mortal and fallible; I have seen her wounded; I have seen her angry; I have seen her regret. She_ _ **could**_ _lie to me…the god who chose me could and would **not** and I have…I have so little to cling to that I must…I __**must**_ _trust the Maker in all things. I have…I have…_ _ **No. Other. Choice.**_

"I am sorry, Leliana." Salem stood close to me, within reach.

She did not know. She could not know. I was being tested. The gods always tested. I would _not_ falter as Andraste had. I would _not_ fail the god who saved me from Marjolaine, from the Blight, from the loss of my wife. Yes, madness reigned in my mind, but I knew now. I understood. The chaos and confusion and bewilderment were part of this test. I had to see my way clear. I would find my way back to my god.

"You have no need to apologize, my love." I stepped closer to her, looking into her eyes, enduring the hell within them because it had led me to _this_ moment where, for _once_ , I would succeed. "All is forgiven. I beg you to forgive me for being so blind."

I reached up and cupped her cheek, feeling the texture of the scar there, remembering the glory of her skin against mine. The Maker would forgive me this _one_ indulgence. I drew Salem's lips to mine and kissed her. My heart faltered at the taste of her lips, of the consummate _passion_ she could convey in such a simple gesture. I knew she loved me still. I knew her heart was mine to command. I knew, as I had known when I placed my lips against hers, that her kiss would be sweeter than I remembered. I knew, also, that it was a lie.

My left hand still held my weapon and I gripped it with resolve. Our lips danced with the passion of legend as I drew back...and plunged the knife into an old scar, the same place where Marjolaine's blade had pierced her all those years ago. I felt the weapon slip past her ribs and Salem gasped, pulling back, stumbling. She stared at the hilt of my knife, which protruded from her body, and I waited for her true form, for my god's enemy's form to come forth and declare defeat. I waited, but it did not happen.

Instead, Salem coughed. Blood flecked her lips. She looked away from the knife and into my eyes. And she _smiled_.

"A…thousand times…dear heart." She spoke the words again to me, the promise she made when I wept in her arms, begging her forgiveness for ramming a blade near her heart to save her from Marjolaine's poison. "A…thousand…times."

Salem crumpled to her knees, struggling to breathe. The flecks of blood on her lips became a river trailing from the corner of her mouth. Still, she smiled. Still, amid the hell in her eyes I could see the _love_ that defined her. I could see her forgiveness and her understanding. I did not know what to do and in that void, old instincts roared to the front, the primal mind gaining control over the conscious mind.

I turned my back to her. And fled.


	83. Chapter 83

**Rylie**

"Get her to a private cabin, _now_." I ordered the two sailors who carried Kestrel's inert, unconscious form. I forced myself to watch her chest rise and fall, so that I could leave and do what needed to be done; what _Kes_ would be most worried about. I couldn't let her sacrifice of blood and breath and _sight_ be in vain.

The sailors carried her below decks with great care and I turned to the twenty-odd children who had followed me through the madness of the Gallows and the city streets. Their eyes held a feeling and a light that I knew would haunt me for the rest of my days. Their eyes had grown _old_ …even the youngest child's gaze held the sorrow and longsuffering as a soul of eighty winters.

 _This is our fault_ , I realized, staring down at my sword, the hilt inscribed with the sigil of the templar order. _We have broken children and made them old before their time. This is the cost of our fear and the manipulation of the Chant that made it possible to harm these innocents in order to_ _ **ease**_ _our fears. Yes,_ I realized, _mages are prey to the demons of the Fade, but today I saw templars who were_ _ **worse**_ _abominations than the demons I struck down. Worse because they_ _ **had**_ _a choice…the choice to slaughter or to save. In vengeance, in fear, they chose slaughter._

"Come with me." I spoke and I watched them flinch, for they knew me as one of their captors, one of their jailers, and the hand from whence cruelty came. "Please." I begged, hoping that they could see, that they could intuit with the innate wisdom of young minds that I was _not_ their enemy.

"Where are you taking us?" The eldest, Felicity, asked. "Please, sergeant, tell us at least that."

"Do not call me sergeant." The title sent shudders of revulsion down my spine. "My name is Rylie, and I am no longer a member of the templar order. This ship will sail to Val Royeaux. From there, Leliana, Kathyra, and myself will go before the Divine. She is a kind and just woman. We will tell her of the sins of Kirkwall, and you will be treated," My voice cracked with grief as I made them a promise that I would _die_ to see made reality, "you will be treated well and with kindness. I will protect you. All of you, I promise."

"Will we be sent to another circle?" Felicity asked. "Will we be marked as apostates?"

The thought of children held down while needles and ink were forced into their faces made me physically ill. My gut clenched and my heart ached and I wanted to run to the side of the boat and vomit my disgust into the sea. Instead, I held myself together, all of my limbs trembling, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped my sword.

"I do not know the answer to the first." I managed to choke out the words past the nausea. "But you will _not_ be marked as apostates. Leliana Cousland, the archer who saved us, is the Left Hand of the Divine. You are under her protection and _no one_ will call you an apostate. Now, please, follow me. We will settle you in cabins so you can rest and eat and wash."

"Please don't separate us." Felicity pleaded, her eyes too wide and dark in her pale face. "We all…we depend on each other, and the little ones will be frightened."

"As you wish." I nodded.

I guided them below decks, into the main cabin, where the sailors slept. There would be enough bunks for the children, and we would find other housing for the sailors. They were under Leliana's orders, and I knew that she would understand my housing the children here. I watched as the older children guided the younger ones to beds, how they held them and hugged them and whispered reassurances. They were so very brave…they did not know if they could trust us, but they had no choice.

"Rylie Camerloch?" I heard my name and turned to face a tall, burly giant of a man. His black beard was streaked with white hairs, his blue eyes twinkled, and in him I could sense an innate, almost fatherly gentleness. "Name's Westyn. I'm the ship's cook and the captain's ordered me to help you in any way you might need."

"I need water for them to wash in." I spoke, my eyes riveted to Kestrel's blood on Felicity's hands. "And they require food and drink and sleep."

Westyn's eyes surveyed the situation and he nodded. "They're all mages?" He asked and my body went wire-tight, wondering if I would have to protect these children once again from the prejudices of mortal men.

"They are." I clenched the hilt of the sword I'd sheathed when we went below decks. "Is that going to affect your care for them in any way?"

"Not in the least." He shook his head. "My twin brother was a mage. The templars took him when we were…" He pointed to Thomas, "…about that size. I've never been right since and I fear he hasn't neither. I'll take care of the children, I swear on my brother's life. You look as though you need some rest."

 _I do…but I can't. Leliana is not here yet and there is much to be done and I cannot…I cannot rest while Kestrel still fights for her life. I cannot._

"Let me pass!" I heard a shout from above.

I said nothing to Westyn; merely nodded and ran back up the stairs. A group of sailors gathered near the gangplank; I could see the flash of their cutlasses in the light of the sun. I drew my own blade and pushed through the crowd, stopping when I got to the front. A young elf, with hair the color of snow and tattoos that glowed luminescent in his skin, stood on the deck, cradling a body all too familiar. His tunic was soaked with blood…too much blood.

"Back away!" I shouted as my heart began to crack. "Back away, all of you!" The sailors did not move. " _Damn you all, let him_ _ **through!**_ " I shrieked and they listened at last, pulling away, muttering, sheathing their swords and returning to their work, preparing the ship to sail.

I walked closer to the elf, dreading what I would see. My cracking heart shattered when I saw Kathyra, her skin as pale as bleached bone; her eyes locked wide and unmoving, her lips frozen in a peaceful half-smile that was haunting in itself. She was gone. I did not want to believe it, but the evidence lay before my very eyes. I felt the loss of her inside myself, echoing as a part of me shredded away…the part that saw her as a friend; as a healer; as a mother.

"Your friend asked that I bring her body here." The elf said, his voice low, a baritone growl that landed pleasantly on the ears. "A favor given for a favor done."

"Come with me." My voice shuddered out.

I led him back down below decks, to the last available cabin in the ship…the storeroom. A table stood at the back, nailed to the walls of the ship. I cleared it with wide, uncaring sweeps of my arms and allowed him to lay Kathyra there. The elf stepped backwards and saw the beginnings of tears in my eyes.

"This day has stolen from all of us." He murmured and I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat that grew bladed edges the longer I gazed upon the shell of Kathyra's body. It did not matter that her spirit no longer resided there…it mattered that her spirit would no longer be with _us_ …with her family.

 _Oh, Maker...Leliana…she must be in unimaginable pain._

"It has." I agreed. "What will you do?" I asked, wondering where this strange man would go now that his debt had been paid.

"I will end the lives of those who cause such atrocities as this." He declared. "The magisters of Tevinter will see this as a call to war. They will defend themselves against the battles to come. It is my mission to end these slavers and choke their power."

Anger boiled in me and I turned, grabbing the elf by his leather cuirass and slamming him against the wall. His hands reached for the dagger at his belt. I laid my arm against his throat, pulled his knife, and threw it into the opposite wall.

"You will do _no_ such thing." I hissed. "I do not care what horrors your past has visited upon you. I do not care what suffering you have endured. It is _not_ the mages who have brought this upon themselves. There are so many who are so _quick_ to punish the innocent that they _trample_ to their goal over the bodies of those they intended to _save_. End the evil where you can, but _save_ those who are enslaved. If you kill their masters, where will they go? If freedom is thrust upon them, will they comprehend what to _do_ with it? Not every man has the luxury of _knowing_ how to rule their own lives. _Save_ others…" I growled, pleased when I saw understanding dawn in his gaze. "If you have learned anything from this _wretched_ city, it is that the innocent suffer, not from the rule of tyrants, but from the apathy of men and women who see that they are in slavery and do _nothing_. Killing the villain does not mean the suffering they caused is at an end. The woman who lies dead on that table taught me these things. You bore her body to rest, and I thank you for it. Now carry her wisdom out into your life."

I relinquished the elf and he nodded, then ran from the room. Shaking, I turned my attention to Kathyra. I found a blanket sitting atop one of the crates and I took it, laying it over her body, hiding the grotesque wound in her body and the thick, congealed blood on her clothing. Tears fell from my eyes as I finished smoothing the wrinkles from the blanket. I wanted to pray but I did not know how. I did not know how to beg for peace when chaos reigned. I did not know how to grieve when I knew the battle was not done; when I knew that I still had to _fight_.

I looked down at Kathyra and the peace on her features. The Maker had called her home. She was at rest now, at peace, and I could not begrudge her that. I reached up and laid my fingers on her eyelids, preparing to close her eyes the final time.

"Stop." I heard a voice from behind me. I turned to see Leliana standing in the doorway.

There was blood on her hand and her blue eyes were not wild…they were…they were _frenzied_. Cold, blistering energy spilled off of her as she moved closer. Her eyes did not move from mine and I felt as though my skin would tear apart from the force of her gaze alone. I did not know this woman. I had never seen this woman…her lover lay dead behind me and yet no grief lay in Leliana's eyes.

"This is not your work to do, Rylie." Leliana spoke and her voice made me shiver. "Go and be with Kestrel, while still you may." Her words held a hollow bitterness and made me tremble. "Let the dead bury their dead."


	84. Chapter 84

**Leliana**

I stared at the blood on my hand. Rich. Red. Powerful and strong. This blood had been on my hands too many times. The sight of it once left me broken and in mourning, my throat tight with worry, my gut clenched with fear. I knew I was losing my mind when my heart panged and the most foolish of thoughts whispered through my mind.

 _It smells like her. She always smelled of blood and it…it comforted me._

My eyes strayed from my hand and to the body of the woman I loved. Her hands, too, were always covered in blood. Always her natural scent was underscored by the thick copper and salt. There were too many similarities between them. Between all of them. Between all of them and me. Every single one of those I had taken between my legs and into my mouth and into my soul had _all_ smelled of blood.

I did not want any of this to be real. Kathyra's body resting before me, forever lost to this world, at peace in whatever place was prepared. I knew what I believed; what Salem spoke to me of when she died the first time. That she returned to her loved ones; saw their faces, heard their voices, felt their spirits near her. I prayed that such a thing rang true for Kathyra. That Giselle, her first and truest love, came for her amidst the pain and the slow, agonizing death she must have endured.

 _She endured it for you,_ spoke the voice of my pain, the whisper of my agony, the voice that separated itself from me the moment Marjolaine's blade pierced my side. _Kathyra died in agony, for_ _ **you**_ _. So that she could whisper her last words, and break a promise in death that she kept in life. She spoke of Salem. She spoke of the one who holds the second half of your soul…she wanted you to reunite._

"Kat…" I whispered, feeling the ship lurch beneath my feet as we began to leave the harbor, before it could be blockaded. I stroked my fingers through her hair, the sensation of it almost convincing me that she could hear, even though her open eyes were still locked on a faraway land where I could not yet see and not yet venture. "Kat…why did you let yourself hurt? Why did you…why did you break your promise to Salem? Did you truly think that seeing her would…would help restore my soul after losing you?" Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks as I struggled to cope with all that had happened in so short a time…in _too_ short a time. "I cannot fail the Maker, Kathyra." I breathed. "I cannot…I cannot fulfill my purpose if Salem is alive. She divides my heart; splits my mind, I must…I must _believe_ in the Maker and her purpose for my life and for Thedas. For that…for that, Salem must not live, lest she become like Maferath."

I stood there before the body of the woman who had carried my grief without regret. Who had held me through tears, who had lain with me at night, watching the stars through the window, who had shown me that love could be peaceful. With Kathyra it was…it was _simple_. We understood one another. In so many ways, we _were_ one another. The sole woman who could grasp my pain and calm it when it resurged and became too much.

"She caused me such _pain_ , Kat." I whispered, ignoring the tears dripping off my nose. "She _hurt_ me so many times, but I forgave her. I forgave her because I hurt _her_ and we were this…this horrific, mangled, divine catastrophe of love. We could not stop the pain but we could not stop the loving either and somehow it _balanced_. There is no balance anymore, my love." I reached out with bloodstained fingers, tracing Kathyra's marble cheek, rigid and cold in death. "There is no balance anymore. I am at my end with suffering the horrors of mortal love. I choose divine love. I choose divine purpose. After all, my dearest, gods do not die, do they? Their love is eternal."

 _You watched Salem kill a god,_ the dark voice in my thoughts resurged. _Why would you choose the love of a god when you know that they, too, are fallible? If Andraste failed, does that not mean the Maker failed in choosing her as a prophet? Does that not make a god fallible? If a mortal woman with blades of earthen steel can bring down a god, does that not make gods mortal?_

"Be _silent!_ " I shrieked, turning and looking for the voice that spoke to me, before remembering that it inhabited my own mind.

I could feel my insanity unraveling like old lace. I could reach out into the air and touch the fragments of what once were my thoughts and my deeds and my beliefs. I could see all of myself outside of myself and it made no sense. I struggled to cling to _something_ but when I reached…when I reached I could see nothing but the blood staining my hands. I wanted to wash it from me, take the iron in it and smelt it into a blade so that I might carry a weapon forged of the blood of a godslayer. The woman who would die to save a world that did not know her and did not love her. The woman who died for me. The woman I killed.

 _Will I feel her die again?_ I wondered. _Will I feel her depart from my heart as I did that day in Amaranthine, when I found her last words to me wrapped in a bouquet of Andraste's Grace?_ I waited and felt nothing. I hung my head. _No. Of course I would not. I have set Salem aside in my heart. I have forgiven my love of her and made certain that she_ _ **knows**_ _that love is no longer there for her. She will not come for me. She is dead. I have killed her. I have killed her once again; but this time, there is no remorse, for she saved me from nothing._

I stared at my hand, watched as it moved. I focused on every movement as I reached out and rested my fingertips, stained with the blood of a once lover, on the eyes of yet another once lover. I closed Kathyra's eyes the final time, then leaned down, whispering in her ear, hoping that her spirit would not be so enraptured that she did not hear my final words to her.

"I'm not in my right mind, Kat." More tears fell. "Everything is broken inside," I felt it, glass and steel shredding me apart from within. "I cannot mend it." I closed my eyes and saw a flash, an image seared into my mind…Salem's blood-flecked lips parting in a smile that meant she _loved_ me. "But I can kill it. It will not hurt anymore if I kill it."


	85. Chapter 85

**Salem**

For a second time, the world burned around me. I watched it move around me as I sat, propped up against the wall of Kirkwall's docks. I watched the world move as I bled, and my life made sense once again. Because I knew who I was once more. I knew because of the blade between my ribs, tickling my lung with its razor sharp tip. I watched the world move and I watched it burn and I could not wipe the smile from my face.

Not because of the pain I felt in the air, tangible and a permanent scar across the face of this city. Not because of the war that would begin, spreading out from the epicenter of this explosion and raking its bitter, black claws across the face of Thedas. No. My heart still grieved for this world and for the wounded. I could not force my heart to be unfeeling, no matter how I tried. Still, I smiled.

I smiled for the taste of blood on my lips. I smiled for the cold steel freezing my body from within. I smiled for I had visited my greatest fear and found that, now that the bitterness of my resurrection had been endured, I feared nothing. My anger at my new life bled out of me, staining my shirt and my skin and dripping onto the ground from the hilt of Leliana's blade. I smiled because I bled for the woman I loved, though I knew she would never see our reunion in such a light. Not for quite some time. Perhaps never.

"Thus the sun sets on a new day," A familiar, crackling voice spoke to me from the shadows. "A new day in which the gods hear the roars of men and laugh, for the wave is soon to crash upon the shore and shall sweep all, even those who believe themselves immune to the ebb and flow of life, away."

"So you are laughing." I murmured, looking up and seeing, once more, the dowdy, inconspicuous swamp witch I met a lifetime ago in the Korcari Wilds. The god in Flemeth lay dormant, so that none who witnessed her would even suspect her nature. "Standing in the shadows with your pawn in this great game and crowing triumph. How very…" My breath hitched and I coughed, spitting the blood that came up at Flemeth's feet, "…mortal of you."

Flemeth looked down at the splatter of my blood near her feet. Her wizened lips turned upwards in a smile. "Spoken by one who is more than mortal." I attempted to find a note of mockery in her tone, but, for the first time, the Witch of the Wilds, the Woman of Many Years, had nothing but solemnity and the edge of truth in her voice. "I wonder, Salem, what you will choose."

I shifted my right arm out of the way, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out in pain. With my left I directed Flemeth's sharp, ancient golden eyes to the hilt of the blade protruding from my skin.

"How can you see this and _think_ that I have a choice?" I asked her.

Flemeth smiled. "You've fulfilled your purpose, daughter of man." She told me. "You have run me through and cursed my name and attempted to blister my scales with insults from a weak, mortal tongue. You have decried your second life and reviled me at every turn. Now that you have done what I brought you to do, you may return to the place I dragged you from; that horrid, mortal haven my sister builds for her children. You are free to die, Salem Cousland."

"Am I?" I wondered aloud, not asking a question, but voicing my thoughts through the chaos, the running feet, the shouts of names and the cries for help that I could not answer. "The gods taunt me with freedom at every turn. Freedom to live. Freedom to love. Freedom to choose this way or that. Now, you tell me I am free to die when you _know_ that I am not."

Flemeth's lips curled upward in a knowing smile. Her golden eyes sparked. "Oh, the meddling in your life has given you too great a wisdom. That you know the truth of my words only piques my interest in you further, though I am not your mother or your justice. I could heal you, Salem. I could pull the blade from your body and mend the rip in your lung with the touch of my hand."

"But then I would be yours entirely." I murmured, watching my vision grow dark around the edges. "I will not be owned, Flemeth."

"Then you _will_ die." She intoned, the ring of unmistakable truth in her voice. "Your blood waters the ground of Ferelden and Kirkwall. You belong to the land. You are its slave and its salvation."

I laughed at her words. I laughed until it jarred the blade in my body and wracking coughs took over the sound of my laughter and the taste of blood washed across my tongue. I did not care. The spirit of mockery still lingered in my wheezing gasps for air. That Flemeth had survived for millennia and still did not know the truth so apparent to me ignited the dark humor that haunted the corners of my mind. The dark humor that saw me laughing when injured, smiling at the horrific turns of my existence, for the hideous moments often framed profound realizations, such as the epiphany that dawned in my mind the moment Leliana's kiss seared my throat and her blade pierced my side.

"You mock me." Flemeth almost snarled, but her words and stance were too elegant for that descriptor. "What madness has your pathetic mind conjured?"

"You…gods." I rasped, still chuckling thickly past the blood in my throat and staining my teeth. "Obsessed with…your lands and creation. My blood waters the land, oh yes. But I…I did not spill that blood or give that blood for the _land_. I gave it to…" I paused to struggle for breath, "…I gave it to Leliana."

Flemeth's brows creased and then I saw a flare of _hatred_ enter her eyes. She realized then that she had made a mistake. She brought me back to damn Leliana's faith. To slaughter my love's belief in the Maker and turn her from her path. Flemeth succeeded. I knew that Leliana's faith, made fragile by my living, would shatter, and soon. What Flemeth did _not_ know and never _could_ understand, was what that _meant for_ _ **me**_.

"You…" Accusation dripped from her voice and, once more, I smiled.

" _Yes_." I replied, joyous in my subtle, bloody triumph. "I belong to that which…I shed my blood for. I shed my blood…for my love. I am her slave… _and_ …her _salvation_." I looked up at Flemeth, smiling at her with blood-stained teeth. She had failed, and spectacularly so. It had simply taken me facing my fear to realize how to allay it and end it. A grave and dangerous task lay before me. I did not even know how to begin.

"You speak the bloodless dreams of the addled mind." Flemeth attempted to fill me with doubt, but she could not.

I was Salem Cousland. I no longer had a duty to my land or my people. The woman who bore that burden died years ago. Now, my duty lay to the woman I loved. Never had I failed my name and my heritage. This time, this second life, would be no different. I would bear the burden of Leliana's sorrow. I would bear the uncertainty of her faith. I would bear her bitterness, her hatred, her fear, and her pain, if she would allow it. I had but one thing more to say to the god who believed she knew victory.

" _Fuck_ you, Flemeth." I whispered, looking into eyes that changed to a dragon's gaze.

She said nothing to me in response, merely knelt down. She rested one hand on my shoulder and I waited for some cryptic threat, some meaningless words that would not deter me from my path. Instead, her hand closed around the hilt of Leliana's blade and she _wrenched_ it from my body.

I doubled over as pain became the whole of my existence. My screams joined the cacophony of the city's wounded and bereft. I felt blood pour out of my body and onto the ground and I clutched at the wound with a feeble hand, attempting to keep pressure. Flemeth stood, holding the knife in her hand, looking at it with a tenderness in her gaze, as though she felt affection for a mere, mortal weapon. She smiled as she cast it down.

"Remember, Salem." Flemeth hissed. "You are _still_ free to die."


	86. Chapter 86

**Rylie**

"Serg…Rylie?" I heard a voice right on the edge of sound, a voice that I recognized, but I couldn't remember from where. "Rylie?" I wanted to ignore the voice, wanted to slip back into sleep. "Rylie, wake up. Kestrel's awake."

The last two words snapped me into awareness. I did not know how long we had been at sea, but I did know that I'd remained awake until exhaustion itself dragged me down into slumber. I opened my eyes and shoved my hair out of them, finding Felicity, the young mage, kneeling beside me. She held a cup in her hand and it smelled both fragrant and sweet. My stomach roared its displeasure. I could not remember the last time I'd eaten anything.

"How long have I been asleep?" I mumbled, hissing as I sat up, feeling all manner of aches and pains from the exertions of the battle and sleeping on the hard floor of the ship. "When did I even fall asleep?"

"Only a few candlemarks ago." Felicity handed me the cup. "It's tea, with a touch of elfroot and whiskey. It will help ease the aches and pains."

I drained the contents in a single swallow, ignoring the bitterness of the elfroot as the whiskey burned down my throat. The young mage helped me to my feet and as when I stood I remembered everything. Everything I didn't want to remember. I did not recognize Leliana. Kathyra was dead. Kestrel was…Kestrel was unwell.

"Should I have let you rest?" Felicity asked, her eyes full of wariness and uncertainty. She was still wary of the fact that I had been a templar. Even at fifteen, she would not be able to recognize the difference between the templars who held the mages captive and committed atrocities against them from those who fought simply to save _lives_ , be they mage or templar. I could not blame her for her reticence to approach me. I could but hope that I would be able to allay it with time. "You told me to wake you if she…"

"You did well." I assured her. The girl knew enough of fear. Neither of us would forget the horror of the Gallows. I could but pray that Leliana was right to have us escape. I could but pray that the Champion of Kirkwall would prove true to her name and save her city. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes." Felicity nodded. "The crew has been very…very kind. You should eat, though. You all but fainted earlier. I'll go to the kitchen and find you some food."

She turned to leave and I rested my hand on her shoulder, hating what Thedas had done to her. Felicity's childhood was stolen from her. Her innocence had nearly been taken…her soul might have been stolen were it not for Kestrel's intervention. Now, she had the horrific memories of the fire burning through the hall, the escape to the tunnels below; watching her protector nearly killed. Still, she found it within her heart to help a templar. I would not have blamed her had she killed me in my sleep.

"Thank you, Felicity." My voice sounded haggard, rasping, but I hoped she would hear my sincerity. "I cannot…I cannot properly express my gratitude."

Felicity's eyes flitted towards the bed. "I owe Kestrel everything." She whispered. "It's clear she loves you. I do not know what _you_ ," She said the word with disdain and I knew that she meant " _templar_ ", "did to deserve her affection, but…but I will do whatever is in my power to help her."

Felicity left the cabin and left me humbled. I moved to the small bed where Kestrel lay, suffering. The ship's captain opened their stores, revealing a chest stocked with what Kathyra carried in her healer's bag. I knew enough to know that anything strong enough to alleviate Kestrel's pain would slow the beat of her heart and endanger her further. I felt like a monster, denying her relief from what had to be unimaginable pain. The scar across my chest burned with sympathy.

It hurt to look at my lover. The right side of her face was a patchwork of stitches where skin had been torn away. Both of her eyes were bandaged so that, when she awakened, she would not harm her right eye further. Bethany told Leliana that Kestrel's eye would heal, but that it would be sightless for the rest of her life. The blinding was necessary. Necessary to heal Kestrel's lungs, which were scorched by breathing the overheated air in the burning hallway. However, the magic used did not avail much. I could hear Kestrel's breathing, heavy and arrhythmic, too gentle for a gasp, but not without labor.

I sat down on the bed beside her, careful to sit opposite the shoulder that had been run through. My lover wore no shirt, and my gut twisted when I saw the swath of heavy bandaging covering the wound, and the dark stain stamped forever into the linen.

"Kes?" I asked, keeping my voice gentle. I did not want to startle her.

"Rylie…" her hand cast about on the top of the blanket and I covered it with my own.

"I'm here, my darling." I breathed, grateful to hear her speak, though the heaviness of her words nearly tore my heart in two with worry.

 _Did she feel that way on that damned mission?_ I wondered. _We'd not even declared our love and she sat with me, beside me, keeping me as comfortable as she could while I burned with fever after nearly bleeding to death. I never wanted to have to repay that beautiful kindness. I never wanted to see her like this…I need her strength so much, but I cannot tell Kestrel that Leliana's soul is no longer present in her eyes. I cannot tell her that Kathyra is dead. She is too weak and I am…selfish. I do not want to lose her._

"Can't see." She rasped.

"I know." I lifted her hand to my lips and placed a gossamer kiss against it. "Your right eye is…is damaged." I could not yet bring myself to tell her that she would never see with it again. "We had to bind both so that you do not hurt it further with movement. How is your pain, love?"

"If I don't breathe, I think I can manage." The softest of smiles quirked her lips and, for the moment, I was glad her eyes were bound, so that she could not see the tears sliding down my cheeks.

I grieved for her. I grieved for her bravery and for her pain. I grieved because I could not touch her or lie alongside her. I grieved because the woman who would have known what to do lay dead; her spirit with the Maker.

"Well, I beg you to breathe." I attempted to keep my tone light. "Just a little."

"I promise." She murmured and her words hung heavy in the air, resting on both of our shoulders. The weight of not knowing if she would be able to keep that promise. "My chest is…so heavy."

"I know." I felt like a fool with my tongue-tied and twisted into a thousand knots. "We're on a ship headed to Val Royeaux. There will be healers there; you can rest and get well." I reached out and ran my fingers through her short raven hair, a touch she found comforting above all else. "You should be resting now."

"Last time we were on a ship to Val Royeaux," Kestrel's voice slurred and I leaned closer to her lips to hear her words. "Everyone…everyone found something. Leliana found…Salem. Kathyra found friendships. You and I…we found our way to each other. Do you think this time…will be the same…sweet girl?"

I could not see her eyes close, but her hand went slack in mine and her breathing seemed to even somewhat, for she could not feel the pain of it in slumber. Her words settled in my gut, eating away at me there. More tears fell, and I ignored them. I pressed a kiss to Kestrel's forehead.

"I do not think so, my love." I whispered the answer. "I think that this time…this time we have all lost something; something we might never get back." I sealed my lips before the next words came out of them and darkened the room. They did not, however, leave my mind.

 _Something that might break us._


	87. Chapter 87

_**Author's Note:** It's almost midnight here, which means that it is Thanksgiving Day. It is also my bondmate's birthday, which means I have even more to be grateful for. I also want to say to all of you, my readers, that I am thankful every day that you take time from yours to read these words. I hope that you continue to enjoy this story, and that your day is filled with blessings and light. And, to those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving. _

_Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Salem**

"It's not much further." I heard a semi-familiar voice and opened my eyes.

"C—Can't do it, 'Bela." A rough rasp echoed across the stone and I looked towards the sound.

The docks were desolate, devoid of people. The harbor had been full in the morning, now only four ships were moored at the docks, and when I saw the pirate captain, I knew that soon the number of ships would be three. Isabela staggered under the weight of her taller, heavier lover, the Champion of Kirkwall, Micah Hawke. I could see the pallor of the woman's face even from the distance; watch the sweat drip from her matted locks of raven hair.

Isabela looked terrible. Her magnificent tresses were tangled and her face streaked with blood. Her white garments were soaked red on her right side, but I knew by instinct that the blood was not hers. Not with the way Hawke leaned on her. Not with the short, stilted steps that they took.

"Please." The tone of Isabela's voice threatened to break me, for I had heard it in my own ears a hundred times, spoken soft, in an Orlesian accent that took my soul to heaven, haven, and home. "Please, Micah, just a few more steps."

"I—I can't…walk anymore." Hawke's words were a groan of pain.

She crashed to the ground and her greatsword scraped against the cobblestones with the ringing sound of defeat. Isabela knelt beside her. I watched the captain's full, crimson lips plead with the warrior, but Hawke did not stir. Her strength was gone. She expended all of it, I was certain, to secure the safety of the city that had done nothing but take from her. I knew Hawke's agony with an intimacy that transcended knowledge of one another, friendship, and the bounds of normalcy. I knew the desperation in Isabela's eyes with the pain of one who had been there too far often…who had worn that look and been pierced by it like a thousand swords.

Purpose welled in my heart. Purity of intent and knowledge of who I was again. Once, I was the hero who took too many steps, bloodied and broken. Once, I wore the burden of the land upon my shoulders and crashed beneath it. Now, I sat with a wound in my side, dealt to me by a once-lover more wounded in her spirit than I would ever be in body. A dark smile crossed my face as I thought of Flemeth's parting words.

 _You are_ _ **still**_ _free to die…_

"Not this day." I murmured, grasping what was _mine_.

It was a thing no god could truly give. It was something that no poetry could contain, no song grant voice, no legend recall. It was _life_ itself and it was _mine_ and it would not be taken from me. I was free to die, yes, and I once craved that with an appetite of a ravening wolf. No longer. No longer, for if I had the freedom to die I possessed also the freedom to _live_ and _damn_ whatever might attempt to stop me.

Wounds I could endure. Blood I could let be spilled. The slights and spears and blades of my enemies and friends and lovers I would carry like a banner into this next battle. Once, Thedas called me hero. Now, they thought me dead, and in that lay a greater freedom than any soul ever knew. Now, I could _listen_ to the thoughts in my mind and use them to guide _my_ life for _my_ self and not worry that the fate of the world hung upon me.

 _I will_ _ **live**_ _._ I promised myself. _I will_ _ **live**_ _and whatever attempts to destroy that life will_ _ **break**_ _upon my shores. My living has_ _ **broken**_ _Leliana's spirit, but my_ _ **love**_ _once healed it and I trust that_ _ **love**_ _can heal her again. This is why I must live. This is why I must fight. And this is why I must become what now I shall be. Never did I wish to live in the light of the world, with all knowing my name. None do now, save as a memory of deeds long past. Now, from the quiet, from the silence and peace that I have found within myself, I still will move in this world. I still will_ _ **move**_ _this world._

"Micah, get _up!_ " Isabela shouted, her desperate words a clarion bell peeling through the air. "I can't carry your bloody arse up the gangplank! We have to _leave_! Bethany and Merrill will be here soon, and Varric can only stall for so much time! Get _up_!" Still, the Champion did not move. She no longer had the strength. " _Please!"_ Isabela's voice would shred the hardest of hearts.

I looked down at the blade that pierced me, that Flemeth flung at my feet like a trophy of her eventual victory. Her belief that her words would eat into me and I would sink back into peace and legend. She knew nothing. I would give her nothing. I grasped the knife and tucked it into my belt. Someday, _somehow_ , I would return it to Leliana and allow her the choice. To take it in hand and end me in truth and clarity of mind, or to remember our love and lay it aside.

I got to my feet and my pain echoed, distant and unnoticed. It would not rule me. It would not kill me. I lifted my swords and strapped them to my back. There were more battles to fight. There were more legends to be written still. Not of me, no. But of a love powerful enough to defy death. It had done so before, and _would_ again.

I walked to Hawke and Isabela. The captain did nothing as I swept Micah's sword from its sheath and extended the hilt to her.

"Carry the blade." I ordered her. "I'll carry her."

"I know you." Isabela's brow furrowed. "How do I…"

"Carry the blade." I did not have time; _they_ did not have time. Already I could hear the running of armored feet, the soldiers of the city. Guard Captain Aveline would do her duty, even if it meant taking her friends into custody.

I knelt down and looked into Hawke's exhausted eyes, desperate with the hope I knew from my own reflection. The quiet, _longing_ prayer that what she had given could be _enough_.

"This will hurt." I promised her. "But you will bear it." Micah nodded. "Does she carry your heart?" I asked the Champion of her lover.

"Yes." Micah rasped.

"Then she carries your life." I said, grasping the woman's muscled forearm. "You will not die this day, Micah Hawke. Not if she who carries your heart still draws breath."

I pulled Micah over my shoulder and hefted her weight into the air. The scream that echoed did not dissuade me as I followed Isabela across the docks and up the gangplank. The captain tossed Micah's blade to a sailor and led me below decks, to her cabin. I knelt down and Isabela eased Hawke's weight off of me, helping her onto the bed. The Champion lay there, holding the wound in her side, gasping. The air caught in my lungs and I coughed, harsh, spitting out the blood that spilled into my mouth.

Once more I got to my feet, hearing the sound of running. The door burst open and Merrill and Bethany Hawke entered the cabin. The younger sister said nothing, merely flew to her sister's side, the tell-tale blue of healing magic wrapped around her hands and pouring into Micah's body. Isabela breathed a sigh of relief and turned to me.

"You're her." The pirate whispered, her eyes resting on the scar across my cheek. "The He…"

"No." I shook my head. "I am simply…"

"Salem!" Merrill cried, throwing her arms around me. I stiffened and the slight elf who had been my friend and caretaker pulled away, worry etched into her wide eyes when the saw the blood staining my shirt. "You're hurt. Stay. Let Bethany…"

"I am fine." I lied as I had one hundred thousand times, but it was not, in truth, a lie. "I will not die of this wound, and Bethany's gifts are needed elsewhere. Fly to safety, Merrill, and know…"

"Come with us." She entreated me, and I shook my head.

"We must part ways here." I whispered, knowing in my soul that I spoke as fate meant it to be. "There is another path for me, and I must walk it to its end. Know that you are always in my heart, Merrill. Be free, as you were meant to be." I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, leaving a smear of my blood on her skin.

I said nothing further; simply turned and walked away, up the stairs and down the gangplank. The sailors pulled it up after me and cut the ropes. The sails unfurled and caught the winds, taking the Champion to safety and a new life. I walked through the city streets, towards the gates before they closed. When I passed through them, a weight lifted from my heart and my lips curved into a smile.

On a bough of a tree, a nightingale chirped. I paused and felt my pain for a moment, but did not let it rule me. I was free to live. The nightingale sang and I listened with closed eyes, remembering another song. My lips parted and I breathed a prayer. Not to the Maker, nor to any of the other gods. I prayed to Love, the sole thing that I knew to be real, true, and life-giving. The sole thing that could heal the wounded world.

"I know your song is broken, dear heart." I whispered to the innocuous brown bird with a song so sweet it ripped hearts and kingdoms asunder. "I know your song is broken, and though I cannot sing, I know the melody. I know the words. I know the rhythm and the symphony and I will hold it in my heart, safe for the day when, I _know_ and _trust_ and _believe_ , you will sing again."

I walked further down the road, basking in my liberty and in the joys and beauty of life. Yes. Blood spilled from my body. Yes. There would be pain and discomfort in the days to come. But I would heal. I would carry on, for the one who carried my heart still _lived_.

 _You live, I live. That is the simplicity of it._

And I laughed. I laughed at the great, dread dragon, Flemeth. She brought my spirit back into this world and repaired my battered body. She had given me freedom to die. What her divine mind could not conceive of was that even the gods must have balance. Every force met its opposing force. Every choice had an opposing choice. She held claim on me no longer, for in freeing me to die, she freed me to live.

 _I will live._ I promised myself and Leliana. I looked to the sky, where the sun shone despite the blood spilled on this day, gleaming bright, untouched by the vagaries of man and magic. I knew that somewhere, beyond the sun, beyond the stars, my father and mother watched me once again. They, too, deserved a promise.

 _And I will live_ _ **well.**_


	88. Chapter 88

**Leliana**

The doors to the Divine's Hall opened before me. The sun streamed through the windows, striking the white marble, making everything appear clean and pure and bright. All things that I had not been in years, and never could be again. I approached the Sunburst Throne, ignoring the looks of all assembled before Justinia. They saw an exhausted, bedraggled woman spattered with blood walking beside an equally exhausted templar.

Blood tangled our hair, stained our hands, soaked our clothing. Several well dressed women gasped and placed their perfumed handkerchiefs against their noses. The clamor quieted as the woman seated on the Sunburst throne rose to her feet and raised her hands. In my vision, the light from the windows dimmed, resting only on Justinia's regal form. Age had not stooped her shoulders. The lines etched in her skin bespoke wisdom. A kindness lived in her eyes. A kindness I so desperately needed.

"If you would be so gracious as to wait for me." Justinia spoke, her words blanketing the hall, silencing even the softest whisper. "I require a moment alone with my Left Hand."

She descended the stairs and led the way to an antechamber. I remembered this room, from the time I had been forced to stand before Divine Beatrix, long ago. They had clothed me in white, perfumed my hair, and nearly taken my marriage ring from my finger. That day, I threatened their lives for doing so. Now, I had no lover. No marriage. No memory locked inside a ring.

 _It—Salem—stood before me again and I…I ended it. I became Marjolaine and ran Salem through so that I might…so that I might speak for the Maker. I've neither slept nor eaten since boarding the ship…perhaps…perhaps Dorothea can help me make sense of all of this, for I know not what to do. I know not who I am. This world is a storm-tossed sea, and I am without an anchor._

The door closed behind us, and, with a single wave of her hand, Justinia dismissed her attendants. She turned to me and Rylie, offered a gentle smile, and removed the mammoth headdress of her office. Standing before me now was Revered Mother Dorothea, the woman who guided me out from darkness with a gentle, steady hand. I waited for her to speak, knowing that she would. I could already see the questions in her keen blue eyes.

"Reports have traveled to my ears of Kirkwall." She spoke and Rylie shuddered, reliving the horror in her mind while bearing the burden still weighing down her shoulders, threatening to break them. "I am told that my knight-commander went mad and turned to stone. I am told that the Chantry there no longer stands, and that my spirit-sister, Elthina, is no longer in this world. All around me clamor worriers, warmongers, and sycophants, chanting the wants and desires of their small hearts, asking me to alter the entire world to satisfy their momentary instincts. Meanwhile, all I ask is for an honest word. You were there, were you not? You bore witness."

"We were, and we did." I answered.

 _How I wish that we were not. Then I would not have to reconcile within my mind what happened there. The life that I lost. The life that I took. You met Salem, Dorothea, you spoke with the woman who owned my heart and when I sought your beliefs and your wisdom of her character, you answered. I remember what you said._

 _ **"Never have I gazed upon eyes so tortured…but so full of love. If there is a spirit in Thedas to match your own, Leliana, you have found it in her."**_

"Tell me what happened, Sergeant Camerloch."

Rylie's chin shot up; her bright black eyes filled with shock. Not shock that Most Holy spoke to her, but shocked that the most powerful woman in Thedas knew the name and rank of a lowly templar.

"The earth shook in the early morning, before sunrise." Rylie answered, her Starkhaven brogue thick and ragged with exhaustion. "A spire of unholy light pierced the sky and I could see the Kirkwall skyline from my post. The Chantry was gone from it. The cry went up immediately and the order came down just as fast. Knight Commander Meredith looked at the skyline and enacted the Right of Annulment. No one questioned her. In Kirkwall, the mages were locked in their rooms at night. Their staffs were kept locked away and guarded, away from their room. They had almost no defense when the templars poured oil down the halls of the residential wings and set them aflame."

The blue of Justinia's eyes hardened to a crystalline steel. I could feel the righteous outrage burning in her. The woman did not ascend to her position without knowledge of truths and lies…she knew that Rylie spoke the truth.

"Did any mages survive?" Justinia inquired, and I watched Rylie's throat constrict.

"A few, Most Holy." Rylie's voice rang, thickened my grief and horror. "Do you perhaps remember…"

"Kestrel Ariyah?" A smile once again settled on Justinia's lips. "The young mage who changed the entire templar order?" Rylie nodded. "I would not soon forget her."

"She…" Rylie's voice faltered. "She…"

"Kestrel saved the mage children from the burning Gallows, Most Holy." I took up the tale when Rylie could not continue. "And from the templar assault and the abominations. She spared over twenty innocent lives, and it might yet come at the cost of hers."

Justinia's brows rose and in her countenance I witnessed the same horrified compassion that filled her gaze when she looked at me all those years ago, saw the horrific extent of my injuries, and tended to my wounds with her own hands.

"What is her condition?"

"Her lungs are damaged by the heat from the flames." I answered, watching silent tears fall from Rylie's eyes. "One cannot inhale fire and emerge unscathed." _Unless they have survived a dragon's blood mingling with their own. Unless they are Salem Cousland._ "She endured several grievous blows to her head, and was blinded in her right eye so that her lungs could be helped. To worsen matters, she was run through by a templar's blade. We've done what we can for her during the journey here, but her lungs are badly damaged, not taking in air as they should, and now they are filling with fluid."

I glanced to Rylie. Her lips were trembling, murmuring a single, soundless plea.

 _Stop. Please. Stop._

I rested my hand on her shoulder, not so far gone that I could not see my friend's pain. Not so far gone that Rylie's tears meant nothing. Not so damned that I was blind to another's need for salvation. I knew the young woman's suffering intimately. No words existed to describe that pain.

Justinia clapped her hands and an attendant appeared in the door. "Send word to Montsimmard. I require Vivienne here at once."

The attendant nodded and exited with the same silence that marked their entrance. Justinia looked at me and Rylie, assessing the young templar.

"You look dead on your feet, sergeant." Most Holy's voice was kind, so very kind. It burned me with its gentility. "You should…"

"With all respect, Most Holy," Rylie looked the Divine in the eye, unflinching, and I loved her for it. "I _should_ go back to the children I have promised to protect, the lover I am not certain will see the next dawn."

"I will send my attendants." Justinia said, nodding her approval at Rylie's words, her fierceness, her dedication. "The children will be brought under my protection, and your love shall receive care. I have sent for the most knowledgeable healer in all of Orlais. She is a serpent, and abrasive in the way of lava, smooth until you realize you have been scalded to the bone…but she can save one worthy of saving."

Tears filled Rylie's eyes. "Thank you, Most Holy." She whispered, bowing low and leaving the room.

Justinia turned to me, her eyes filled with an emotion I had never seen in her…but it could not be, unless it was for Elthina. It could not be the personal, raw grief that I bore witness to.

"If Kestrel is so bad off," The Divine's voice _trembled_ and it made me afraid, "then…then your news is worse than I…tell me is…Kathyra…"

"She was killed." Now, my voice cracked. "Attempting to save Elthina."

"Of course she would." Bitter, frustrated tears filled Dorothea's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "It is not…it is not right. May I…did you…"

"Her body was brought here." I whispered. "I could not leave her there."

"She will be honored." Dorothea promised, and I did not understand.

The world made no sense. I wanted to sleep. To dream. To fade into those dreams and never return to this world made of pain.


	89. Chapter 89

**Justinia**

My heart is breaking. I walk to the window and look toward heaven, attempting to ignore the soft sounds behind me. The footfalls of those who attend me bearing a precious spirit to its final rest. My grief is split in two. I grieve for the land soaked with blood, the horrors wrought because of my words. To wait. To watch. To report. It might never have happened in this way…but it had to happen in this way. That does nothing to quiet my grief, nothing to allay the burning in my spirit. All of those who perished did so with purpose but that purpose cannot stop my tears, my regret, my remorse.

 _Maker, these are my sins. God of mercy, grant me forgiveness._

The other side of my grief, raw and personal, roars at me from the quiet of my mind and deep within my belly. The teeth of it gnaw at me, leaving me exposed and open in the naked air, feeling the air whisper across the open wounds torn in me. The good were gone too soon, and those of us left behind could do nothing but pray that their example, their memory, might preserve our hearts and minds from further transgression. The good were gone too soon.

 _Would that I listened earlier. Would that I saw before my eyes and did not let prejudice cloud my vision. How different might life have been? Those who now move the world were caught in the storm of my greatest sin and they have saved and preserved and become legends in their own time._

 _What would this world do if it knew that the one who sat upon the Sunburst Throne, who spoke for the god that has abandoned us, is the greatest sinner of all? What if they knew that the light they clung to in dark times was not a light at all; nothing but a pale reflection of horrors made meaningful by words carefully constructed to ease the pain of broken hearts._

I turn towards the softest sound and watch one of my attendants bow before me, paying respect to a shadow and a lie…the greatest deception lasting through the Ages.

"All is prepared, Most Holy." Her quiet voice venerates me, ringing with quiet reverence that I do not deserve. I am a mortal woman, chosen for a role that this world requires be played. "Shall I send for…"

"No, my child." I shake my head and rest my hand upon her shoulder, watching her dash confusion from her eyes before she voices a question…it is a sin to question the Divine of Thedas. How I wish it were not so. How I so needed to be questioned…how I so needed an honest voice. "Go now. Care for the mage children that were brought here, and see to the preparation of chambers for the Left Hand and those with her."

"It shall be done at once, Most Holy." She promises, turning from me and leaving the room. The others follow her footsteps, the door closes, and I am alone. Alone with my sin and my salvation.

I have broken the law. I have broken tradition. I have ordered that the chamber prepared for the final rest of the Divine house another empty shell. A body once possessed of a spirit greater and wiser than my own. The body of one whose cruelty was filled with purpose, fueled by the most righteous of angers, powered by a sacred love.

I walk towards the table, pausing to wash my hands in a basin of clear, cool water, twice boiled for purification, so that the hands who laid to rest the Maker's voice were clean of all impurities. No matter how much I washed them, my hands would never be clean. I could accept the bitter reality of that, no matter how much I wished to do the opposite, as once I did, and deny my wrongdoings.

I unwrap the sheet that covers her with a quiet reverence. The incense burning masks the smell of death, but when I see her body, tears fill my eyes. Kathyra of Orlais. A woman who died of mercy. Slow, I undress her, laying bare the wound that took her life, the cavern carved in her skin that spilt precious blood upon the ground. I let my tears fall, for I had no need to hide them here. I dreamed of a better world, where the tears of those who begged forgiveness could mend the damage they caused, and save the lives ended too soon.

With great care, I soak a cloth in water and begin to wash the blood and dirt from her skin. The sight of the wound in its naked ugliness causes my throat to tighten. Her death was not free from pain. She did not leave quietly and quickly. The woman who knew nothing but mercy, the Seeker graced by the rarest spirit, the spirit of compassion, suffered before she passed from this world. She knew her pain and mortality intimately. She deserved better. She was owed better, but I did not pay my debt. I could but hope my final, paltry honors would earn me some of the compassion that once dwelt in her. That, at the Maker's side, she would entreat him to forgive me for all that I had done.

Though it would be of no use now, I threaded a needle with fine, white silk, and stitched the hole in her flesh. I washed the blood from her hair and tied back the golden curls. With my own hands I perfumed her body with oils of frankincense and myrrh, unable to stop my weeping. I would not dry my tears. I would own them all.

The doors behind me would open soon. The doors would open and reveal those of whom I would, once again, ask too much. I would hurt them further, trusting that their pain would not be without purpose. But they would not go forth without knowing…they would not go forth believing in Justinia, Divine of Thedas, the Maker's chosen who sat upon the Sunburst Throne and guided the world with gentility in grace. No. I would not do that to them.

If they chose to go forth, they would do so knowing the reason and causation of my personal, private grief. They would go forth understanding what I asked of them and, I prayed, forgiving me for it. They would go forth knowing that, like them, I was human and rife with flaws, stained by iniquity, and struggling to steer a foundering ship through a storm like no other the world had ever faced.

 _Let me show them,_ I prayed, _let me show them the divinity of the human spirit. Let me show them the strength that lies within us all, the fragile lamb that, when tested, becomes a roaring lion. Give me the words to tell them of Kathyra's greatest mercy…that in being unafraid of the darker self within her, she spared the lives of all those who dwell in Thedas._

"Speak to me one final time, physician." I begged her soul. "Lend me the flames of that long, dark night, so that I might use them to light the world."


	90. Chapter 90

**Rylie**

The room the Divine's attendants led me too was bright, warm, and comfortable. The windows were open, allowing the fresh sea air from the Val Royeaux harbor into the room. I watched as those trained for this sort of work moved Kestrel from a stretcher to the bed. Their hands were gentle, but I could not help but resent them. I should have been the one caring for her, but all of my strength had been expended. My hands were trembling with exhaustion, and I felt fatigue weighing down on me like a boulder.

Kestrel groaned as they draped the covers over her and her eyelids fluttered, making my heart pound in my chest. She'd awakened only a few times since yesterday morning, each time murmuring nonsense, hissing in pain, coughing in a futile attempt to clear the fluid from her lungs. When her working eye had met mine, there was no recognition there. I knew her life was in peril, but I myself was slowly dying. How had Kestrel endured this, years ago on the ill-fated ship whose mission at last made us confess our hearts to one another?

I moved closer to the bed, shivering even though the day was warm. Kestrel's eye cast about the room, at last resting on me. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw recognition in them. The attendants moved away as I walked to Kestrel's side and sat down on the bed, holding her gaze the entire time, refusing to let them stray. I did not want to see the blood-stained bandage covering her shoulder. It desperately needed changing, but our stores had run out during the voyage.

"Hello, darling." I breathed, attempting to smile, unable to do so because of the tears blurring my vision.

"You look…like hell." Her light, soft voice was thickened by the infection ravaging her, and ragged from coughing. It broke my heart.

"How sweet of you to notice." I quipped, attempting our normal banter, trying to be reassuring when I wanted nothing more than to hold her and cry. "You look beautiful as always."

A slight smile quirked half of her mouth. "Liar." She whispered. "If I look…like I feel…then I'm about…dead."

"Don't say that." I reached out and took her uninjured hand. Her other had been broken by the templar bastard templar who crushed it beneath his boot. "We're guests of the Divine and she has…she's sent for the best healer in Orlais. You will be well in no time."

Kestrel coughed, and I could see her chest tighten as she struggled to expel the fluid from her lungs. The coughs were weak and accomplished nothing but stealing her breath. I slipped my arm around her and eased her into a sitting position, hoping it would ease her breathing. The coughing fit passed and Kestrel sagged into my arms, gasping for air.

"Magic…cannot…heal…sickness." She reminded me of the painful truth in short bursts of speech. "I'm…not…just…hurt. I'm…ill."

 _I know, my sweet girl. I know. But I have to hope. I have to believe in a God that sees the sacrifices you made and will not judge you for them, but help you. I have to believe that someone I love will not leave me. Not when…not when Kirkwall is finished, and we at last have a chance to be together._

"You are going to be fine." I promised her, not caring about the truth. I would make my own truth. I would fight for her.

"I must say I am in agreement with that statement."

At the sound of the foreign voice, my head shot up. In the doorway stood an elegant, statuesque woman. She stood taller than Meredith, with an aura more imposing and commanding than the former knight commander could ever muster. Her skin was flawless, no lines or imperfections, and a dark hue so beautiful that any words died in my throat. Her eyes, however, were entirely too keen. I knew the look in them, the sharpness, calculating and cold. They were Leliana's eyes as she planned an operation, Kathyra's gaze when she'd manipulated a situation…Kestrel's eyes when she used her thief's training. I felt immediately on guard and knew that was exactly what the gorgeous newcomer desired me to feel.

I rose to my feet to greet her. "I am Sergeant Rylie Camerloch of the templar order." The introduction tasted bitter. "Are you Madame de Fer?"

She inclined her head and I witnessed a dismissal of my entire person _and_ the acknowledgement of my question in the single gesture. "So formal, sergeant." Her tone held a teasing note, but also held an edge of condescension. "I've heard of the horrors of Kirkwall, dear, but is it truly necessary to station a _sergeant_ to guard a woman so ill she can barely breathe?"

The fine hairs on the back of my neck rose. I knew she baited me, and I did not wish to rise to the trap. I bit the inside of my cheek, stifling the words before they flew from my lips and offended the obviously powerful woman in front of me.

"My reasons for being here are my own." I strained to speak clearly. "And they've nothing to do with the order. If you need me to leave while you work, I will, but I respectfully ask that you let me stay."

"That is new." Vivienne de Fer commented as she entered the room and knelt beside Kestrel, extending a hand that glowed blue with healing magic and resting it on my lover's forehead. Her eyes, however, were on mine. "A templar who does not speak to a mage as if they are beneath them." She said nothing further, and turned her attention to Kestrel. "Poor thing." She murmured. "So tired and so weak…you were run through, but no blade taken in combat has this angle of entry and exit. You…" She looked at Kestrel and her eyes hardened. "You let yourself be wounded, did you not?"

Kestrel nodded and Vivienne rose to her feet. I saw rage in her eyes, in the pursing of her full lips. The air around her smelled like a storm, and sizzled with the promise of lightning. I did not know what had happened during her magical assessment of Kestrel's wounds, but I knew that the rage she felt was _not_ towards me. I did not need any knowledge of the intimate details of Madame de Fer's life to know that, if I angered her, I would be naught but a pile of ash upon the floor.

"I do not know why Most Holy summoned me here." Vivienne's cold eyes glared at me. "But I will _not_ stoop to expending my magic to saving the life of a suicidal mage. If she does not wish to live, then I will not spend my magic. Please give Justinia my regards, Sergeant Camerloch."

Her imperious figure turned to leave and my vision went red. Without thinking, without fear, I reached out and grabbed the high collar at the back of her neck. I pulled her back, ignoring the flames she held in her hand as I lashed out with an open palm and slapped her across the face.


	91. Chapter 91

**Justinia**

The door to this hallowed chamber opened, revealing Cassandra. She wore nothing but a simple crimson tunic and brown trousers, a fact which pleased me. When she served as Beatrix's Right Hand, Cassandra Pentaghast was never seen without her badge of office. She wore heavy plate mail every day and carried the sword with which Beatrix knighted her. She still wore that sword at her hip, but it comforted me to see her wearing simple clothing. It gave me hope that she would continue on her current path and find peace in her own identity and skin.

Her obsidian brows creased in confusion when she saw the body lying on the marble slab reserved for those who held the highest station in the Chantry. Here, in private, away from prying eyes and loose lips, Cassandra did not bother to bow before me. I preferred it, for it brought me down from the mountain and prevented my losing my humanity in the face of what was expected of my position. Many Divines from ages past foreswore their humanity, using and abusing their left and right hands. I did not want to share in those mistakes. I did not wish to ask of Cassandra or Leliana anything that I would not do myself, were I physically capable of such things any longer.

"Most Holy, I do not understand." Cassandra addressed me, her eyes darting from the marble table to my own gaze and back again, her mind working in furious attempt to make sense of this breach of protocol. "Why have I been summoned here? I was told to come here and I feared…"

"Oh, Cassandra." I smiled at her. "You did not even let the attendant finish their sentence, did you?"

Abashed, she hid her face from me. The woman wore her considerable emotions on her sleeve, but not for every eye to see. None but the truly astute could see them, for Cassandra wore a shield around herself, a bulwark that repelled by is sheer force and intensity. Cassandra radiated power and ability, but within lay the most tender of hearts.

"I knew that a loss was suffered." Cassandra murmured. "I feared we had lost you."

"Not yet, my child." I offered my hand to her. She took it and rose up under her own power. "Though you are correct. We have suffered a grave loss, and shall not be the same. You are aware that Leliana's ship returned from Kirkwall?"

"I am." Cassandra nodded and I watched her steel herself for the news that would come next.

"A squad of four was sent to Kirkwall. Three returned." I informed her, loathing myself, knowing that I had no way to make this blow any easier to endure. "Kathyra was returned to the Maker's side when she attempted to save Grand Cleric Elthina's life."

Cassandra's dark eyes filled with anguish. The lines at the corners of her lips tightened and her hands clenched into fists. Cassandra had spoken to me when she returned from Ostwick. We conversed long into the night about the revelations she experienced. Chief among them had been the time she spent with Kathyra; how she ignored the physician's guidance and advice, how she believed Kathyra's mercy to be weakness, and how she had gone out of her way to rebuff and challenge the milder-mannered woman. Tears had come to Cassandra's eyes that night. She realized the friendship she might have had, the connection she might have forged, never came into reality because of her own actions.

"Do not fear your emotions, my child." I counseled her, and she shook her head.

"Make no mistake, Most Holy, I do grieve." Cassandra whispered, looking beyond me to the body on the marble table. "But Kathyra knew that she was not long for this world. She asked me to…she asked me to care for Leliana when she no longer could…to be a friend to her soul and forgive her for what she must do."

Fresh tears filled my eyes and I allowed them to fall. My Hands needed to know that I, too, still knew human emotion. That I suffered when one I loved died. That I struggled with the memories of what might have been and regretted what was. It hurt me further to know from Cassandra's lips, lips which never spoke falsehood, that Kathyra anticipated her passing. She saw her life ending and confided in but one soul. One heart. The selfish part of me wished that Kathyra would have taken the time to…to at least send a letter.

 _But she would not. She never trusted me and that knowledge, even when I have not seen her face for years, has kept me honest and on the path of truth. Kathyra gave me so many gifts and I never…I never thanked her. I never humbled myself, and I grieve for that. I will grieve for that until the day I die._

The door opened once again, revealing the haggard, fatigued form of my Left Hand. My heart panged inside my chest, throbbing with an old pain. Her body was decorated with the scars of torture and warfare. The shedding of her blood spelled salvation for Thedas many, many times. My mind fell back through the years, to the night she stumbled into the Chantry in Val Royeaux, collapsed in Kathyra's arms, and begged for sanctuary.

I remembered when I first set eyes upon her. Leliana's skin had been bone white; she lost so much blood during her escape that she nearly died of it. Her wounds were numerous and gruesome…her back a latticework of ripped skin and shredded muscle from flogging. That she managed to walk to the Chantry…it should not have been possible, for the soles of her feet had been caned, breaking the small, fragile bones there. The memories still made my soul uneasy and my spirit crack with sorrow and regret.

I confessed to Leliana many things. She knew that my mistakes; my small heart, had been the reason for Marjolaine's betrayal of her. She knew that and she forgave me. She forgave me because of my actions before and after my confession. What she did not know…she did not know how the woman she knew came to be. She did not know what she, what I, and what Thedas _itself_ owed Kathyra. She would know, now. I would break my silence. It would not be easy, but the proper course of action most often was not.


	92. Chapter 92

_**Author's Note:**_ _Hello all! Thank you all so_ _ **very**_ _much for your patience as I got through the difficulties and craziness of the holiday season. Hopefully things are back on track and I can continue this story to its end. I hope that your holidays were wonderful, and that this new year has greeted you with bounty and blessings. Without further ado, then, I give you the next chapter._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven_

* * *

 **Rylie**

Vivienne de Fer held flames in her hand, and I knew that if I did not speak, and soon, I would know what it was to be immolated. So I did what I always had done, in spite of Kestrel, Leliana, and Kathyra's constant counsel to watch my tongue. Words alone would save my life in this moment, because I could sense that this mage before me had real _power_. Not simple magical power, either, but the power that came from noble birth, the knowledge of kings and princes, queens and duchesses.

"Before you commit me to an improvised pyre, know that I did not strike you as a templar might strike a mage. I struck you as a lover defending what they hold most dear." Her elegant brows arched. "And if that still is a reason for you to cast out your hand in vengeance without knowing the fullness of her story, then by all means, burn me."

I opened my arms, allowing her access to whatever part she might wish to set fire to. My breath caught in my lungs as I waited for the judgment of the most powerful mage I had ever met. I prayed that my words, my confession that I had committed the most unforgivable sin a templar could ever commit, would sway the wrath of Madame de Fer.

Her brows lowered, her face held a blank expression, but the fire in her hand extinguished. Her keen eyes sparked and she pierced me through with them. They were dark and intense, but I did not fear her gaze. I could _not_ fear it, lest she walk away again.

"You said you heard the horrors of Kirkwall." I spoke, and Vivienne's lips curled up in what would have been a snarl on any other countenance. "I beg your indulgence, milady. Please tell me what you have heard."

"That the Right of Annulment was enacted, and the mages slaughtered." Vivienne sniffed, and I could sense the utter disdain in the tiny, almost elegant sound. "Even the Grand Enchanter became an abomination, and only a single mage survived. Bethany Hawke, sister to the Champion. But you were there, my dear. Surely you do not need me to tell you of the events which transpired."

"I needed to know what you'd heard, and you told me." I replied, stepping back, giving the majestic woman her space. "You heard that only one mage survived, and that news is incorrect. In fact, if I am not mistaken, the White Spire will soon be home and haven to over twenty mage children whose lives were saved at Kirkwall." Vivienne's brows rose again, and I pressed forward, interceding for my lover's life. "They were guarded and protected by the woman I love, and the mage you mocked. She ran through a burning hall to unlock the rooms where the children would have been burned alive. And, yes, she took the worst of her injuries while on her knees, but only because she was beaten until she could no longer stand. She had no wish to die, milady, and she still clings to life. If you cannot honor her enough to heal her, please honor the lives that she saved. I am not above falling to my knees and begging for your help."

Vivienne shook her head. "No, my dear." Her tone held no awe, no respect, and no mercy. It did not matter to me. All that mattered was that she no longer appeared to be leaving. "You need not beg."

"Forgive me for striking you." I murmured, attempting, not to ingratiate myself with this woman, but to somehow make her understand that I was only human, and all the more flawed for it. In so many ways.

"You are no normal templar, my dear." Vivienne brushed past me and walked to the bed once more.

Relief rushed out of me in a long exhale that left me trembling, shaky, and feeling the full weight of my exhaustion. My eyelids fluttered without my control and my knees went weak. I managed to shore them up before I crumpled to the ground and disturbed Madame de Fer. I could collapse at another time, when Kestrel's life was not at stake.

"Sergeant, I require your assistance." I gathered all my strength and returned to Kestrel's bedside, sitting opposite Madame de Fer at the direction of an imperious finger. "When I give the command, you are to help her sit, and cut that fetid bandage from her shoulder. As the lover of a mage, I am certain you know the workings of healing magic."

"I do." My throat tightened and my heart grew cold with fear. I prepared to hear that Kestrel's healing would be slow and painful. The infection in her lungs was stealing her strength…she had little left for the magic to use in healing her body.

"It would be dark news for this poor thing, were nothing but a typical healer available to her." Vivienne smiled and in her eyes I saw deep and fathomless _power_. "But, as an Orlesian by choice, it is my requirement to elevate all I set my hands to into an art. I have done so with healing. Much to my chagrin, I am still limited to the mending of physical wounds, but I have learned to draw from the life existent all around: the breath of the trees, the chirping of the songbird, the age of the stone. All of this is life. All of this, I can channel into her body in hopes to mend it."

I closed my eyes and breathed deep, preparing to ask a painful question. "With such an ability…would you have the power to mend her eyesight?"

Vivienne shook her head, dashing my spirit to shards. "I cannot reawaken what is dead, my dear." She murmured as her hand began to glow with an incandescent blue light. It held a different structure, a different energy than any healing magic I had ever before seen. "Now, my dear, let us mend what damage we can."

At a nod from Vivienne, I lifted Kestrel in my arms, supporting her. Vivienne unwrapped the bandage with deft, skilled hands. Kestrel's body tensed in my grasp, her eyelids fluttered and a soft whimper of pain passed her lips. I held her tighter, not knowing if Vivienne's artful healing magic would cause her more pain than she endured already. The whimper turned to a cry as the bandage pulled free of the wound.

"Hush, love." I cradled her head against my shoulder, biting my lip, struggling to believe in a God so that I could pray. "The pain will be less very, very soon."

Kestrel clung to me as Vivienne placed her glowing hand over the garish wound. In awe, I watched the wretched holes in her skin—the collarbone and shoulder where the blade pierced her, and the middle of her back where it had left her body—close over. Veins grew out and reconnected, sheared muscle repaired itself, nerves met their fellows, and new, clean scar tissue closed over the wound. Kestrel sagged against me and I could feel the relief in her body as her pain eased.

"Look at me, my dear." Vivienne directed Kestrel.

My lover complied and Vivienne's hand reached out, glowing with that iridescent blue, tracing the garish cuts across my lover's face, closing them over, leaving scars in the place of gashes and lacerations. Scars that would surround her blinded eye and stand as testament to what she'd been through; the horrors she had survived.

 _Maker, her eyes were so beautiful. A viridian light to follow home, always flashing with the depths of her emotion, even when she kept her face stoic. I cannot imagine…cannot imagine…_

"Such beautiful eyes." Vivienne commented. "Like chrysoberyl gemstone. These eyes deserve to gleam like the jewels they are."

Her glowing hand rested over Kestrel's blinded right eye and the light of Vivienne's magic changed from blue to green. Her lips moved in words I could neither hear, nor translate if I could hear them, I was certain. After a moment, a flash of light burst from Vivienne's hand, then faded. The mage fixed her dark gaze to mine.

"I have enchanted her right eye." She explained. "She will never know its use again, but it will appear from the outside as though it functions. The tissue will not decay, and her delicate features will not be marred or obscured by a garish patch."

"Thank you, Madame de Fer." I spoke in hushed tones, awed and humbled by the answering of my desperate almost prayer. "Kes?" My lover's tired visage turned to mine, but she smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Better." Her words slurred. "So much…pain gone. Tired."

"You should rest, my dear." Vivienne counseled. "And your love should rest with you; she looks dead on her feet. Might I borrow her for a moment further?"

Kestrel nodded and I guided her back down onto the pillows, pulling the covers around her, tracing the new, delicate scars on her face with my gaze. Her eyes drifted to Vivienne and her pale lips curved upwards in the soft smile I loved so well.

"Thank you, milady." Kestrel whispered, and I saw a true smile on Vivienne's face, one without any cultivated thought or ulterior motive.

"You've fought with honor and earned your rest." Vivienne smiled. "Perhaps you might join us at the White Spire, when you are well. Those there could use a mage of your caliber and determination as an example of what they should be."

 _If I have my way, Kestrel will_ _ **never**_ _be jailed in a Circle again. We gave up our freedom in Kirkwall and prevented casualties…she saved the children, but…but I cannot see her jailed again._

Kestrel's eyes fluttered closed and Vivienne rose with a dancer's innate grace. I followed her to the door. She paused and turned to me, an expression so serious in her dark eyes that my heart began pounding in my chest. Her countenance bespoke ill news, and I did not want to hear it. However, I had to.

"Now that there isn't a gaping hole in her body, and with the mending of her broken bones, Kestrel will regain her strength and be more capable of fighting the infection in her body. I will leave a list of herbs and a treatment regimen which _must_ be followed if she is to regain her health."

"I will follow it to the letter." I promised.

"I am certain you will, my dear." Vivienne's eyes darkened. "But, as you are her guardian and lover, I must inform you of some rather dire news regarding young Kestrel's condition." My heart sank. "The damage to her lungs _is_ permanent, my dear. Magic did not reach them soon enough. The infection will pass, but Kestrel will never be as strong as she once was. You will have to guard her health carefully and make certain that she avoids any strenuous activities that might affect her breathing. Whether either of you like it or not, your lover is now a broken woman."

 _I do not believe that. I_ _ **refuse**_ _to believe that. If Leliana can survive what they did to her in the dungeons of Val Royeaux,_ _ **and**_ _the rigors of the Fifth Blight, then Kestrel can surmount these injuries. Surely there is mercy in this life for…for a woman who has done great things, and saved so many innocent lives._

"I know the look in your eyes, my dear." Vivienne said, her tone soothing, compassionate… _commiserating_. "You believe that if you fight long enough and hard enough that you will see this tragedy righted." She reached out and rested a powerful hand on my shoulder. "You are young, Sergeant Camerloch, but I am certain that the horrors of Kirkwall, indeed, the horrors of life itself, have taught you that some battles can never be won. For her sake, do not fight."

"Is this a realization you have known yourself?" I asked, for somewhere, behind the mask she wore in her eyes, I could see the glint of sorrow.

"How very impertinent." She smiled, reached for the door, opened it, and stepped across the threshold with a murmur. "Yes."

The door closed behind her with a foreboding thud. I turned my back on it and walked back to Kestrel. I lay down beside her, forming my body to the curves of her own.

"I won't let it be true, my darling." I promised her. "I _won't_."


	93. Chapter 93

**Leliana**

The silence thickened until it was almost a tangible, living creature. I knew what it was to wait in such a silence. Destiny's pregnant pause; a necessary patience that would give birth to something of great importance. However, I would have preferred this wait in another time, another place, where I did not have to see the white face of the woman I loved, locked in death. All that remained behind was the shell of a once great woman.

 _She made one mistake,_ darkness filled my heart. _The mistake of loving me…of extending her heart in her hand and clasping mine with it._

Most Holy's eyes rested on me, as if waiting for me to speak. She knew, however, that I would not. My life led me to become a patient woman. I would wait for her words. Cassandra, however, did not quite have patience forged into one of her virtues.

"Most Holy, what is this about?" My counterpart asked, snapping the delicate silence in two.

"A warning, a request, and a history." Justinia answered, her soft smile taking me back to those long years ago, when I had awakened to the blue of her eyes and the kindness of her voice. Both had soothed my great pain. "Leliana stood there as the flames raged, but in our hearts, the three of us know that the flames that ignited in Kirkwall will soon sweep across the face of Thedas. With realization comes understanding, but for understanding to be gained here, the story must go back even farther. The fire that stole Kathyra's life began long ago. Before I wore this mantle. Before Cassandra served my predecessor. Before, in fact, you and I even knew that the other existed, Leliana."

I attempted to let her words pique my curiosity, but I could not ease the numbness inside my soul. I felt nothing. Nothing but the heavy weight of exhaustion, loss, and confusion. I stared down at my hands. My fingernails were stained the color of rust and mud. The red-brown of dried blood. Kathyra's blood. Salem's blood. The blood of strong, kind women who were foolish enough to love me.

"You have a story, Most Holy." Even my voice sounded dead, stained with tears and recriminations. "We are listening."

"I know, my child." The Divine attempted to smile once more, but inside the gentle blue eyes I saw pain and the remnants of many tears. "This is not a tale I tell with ease. One survives who yet knows this story, but they watched from a distance, and who can say what they remember. It is important that this tale be told…it is important that my Hands hear of the moments when…when a story was written, and I was its villain."

Cassandra's gasp broke the quiet. Her obsidian brows rose and her warm, whiskey eyes flared with a singular emotion. Disbelief. I said nothing, and Cassandra's eyes flashed forth and back, seeking an answer to that disbelief. A word, a thought, a deed to make the words just uttered become unsaid.

 _Poor Cassandra,_ I thought, _learning now the truth of those in power. Her spirit cracked when Justinia revealed how Beatrix used, manipulated, and corrupted her own Right Hand. Does she fear a second breaking here, now? Will she feel betrayed by Justinia at the end of this tale? Who can say?_ I gazed upon the taut features of the Nevarran beauty. _Do you fear being broken again, Cassandra? Has your life been so ideal that you have not yet come to realize that life is nothing more than a series of being broken?_

"The villain, Most Holy?" Cassandra managed to ask.

"Yes." Justinia paused, closed her eyes, and prepared her story. "Unlike many who wore the title I now hold, I did not begin my life in the Chantry. In my youth, I did not even enter this place. In my mind, I muted the Chant of Light. I had no use for it…but I enjoyed rich, exquisite things. I loved beautiful, material pleasures. And, being possessed of a keen eye and watchful nature, I found a place where a woman such as myself might not only acquire but _keep_ the better, grander things in life, without chaining myself to an unpleasant stone like a husband. I saw the power that could be had with just enough humility, if such humility were shown before the right people. Thus, I entered the service of the Maker and took my vows. Honest. Poverty. Chastity. I swore to embody and uphold such things with no intention of keeping them…if breaking them should benefit me."

This story was one I had heard many times. Not the precise tale, of course, but entering into a new life in order to gain power, wealth, or prestige was something I knew intimately. It was something I'd once done. Cassandra stood opposite me, staring at Justinia with disbelief in her eyes. I wished, for a moment, that I might stand inside the mind of the Right Hand and watch this through her eyes; listen through her ears. The pain in her warm eyes was sheer eloquence, and, I prayed, brief. I prayed that Cassandra might be able to bear the re-writing of her world-view and beliefs once more time. This was not a moment to break, no matter how much I desired to. This was a moment to live, learn, and struggle against the need and desire to break.

"Through dedication," Justinia continued, "the proper actions before the right eyes, and the proper words in elevated ears, I became the Revered Mother of the Val Royeaux Chantry. In spite of that lofty position, I wanted more. The title of Grand Cleric. A position as one of the Nine. Achieving such a thing, however, took time, strategy, and making a name for myself in true ministry. No longer could I rise on my path to glory by words alone. Action was needed, and thus I sought for some great deed with which to glorify myself and my name. The opportunity arrived when a young nobleman approached me. He spoke to me of his father's indiscretion: a dalliance with an elven servant, which resulted in a child."

 _Giselle_ …my memory sparked. _Surely, Most Holy is speaking of Giselle…Kathyra's first love_.

I bit the inside of my cheek, becoming more interested. Since the moment Revered Mother Dorothea became Divine Justinia, Kathyra refused to trust the woman. I wondered at her reasons, but they remained the sole secret she kept from me. I allowed it to be so. Pain was sacred; so sacred that, often, new love could never venture where old pain dwelled. I understood that with a vicious clarity. Kathyra possessed her secrets, and their reasons. I possessed mine.

"Unlike most noblemen," Justinia's voice cracked, startling me with the blatant show of emotion from the reserved, stoic woman, "the father allowed his half-elven daughter an education. She learned to read, write, and became a student of anatomy and botany. According to her brother, she was as adept at healing as any mage. As he described the woman's talents, I saw an opportunity unfold. For the Chantry to become not only a place that ministered to the soul, but to the body as well. The young nobleman gave me a deed…a deed, not to a parcel of land, but to the life of a living, breathing being. Being one who thought the elves barely above contempt, I accepted it and took the young woman into the Chantry and, supposedly, beneath my wing. She thought it a gift; an opportunity to help others with her knowledge and skill. She did not know that, by the law of Orlais, she belonged to me."

Cassandra's brow creased and her lips turned down. In her eyes, I could see a great pain. The pain of knowledge granted, of disillusionment. Justinia, in the Right Hand's eyes, had saved her, redeemed her from being the pawn Beatrix constructed. It hurt when the mighty fell. My own body twinged with pain, remembering when Marjolaine plunged her knife into my body and stripped me of the last vestiges of naïveté, innocence, and trust. I wondered, briefly, if I had visited that same pain on Salem as well. If I fell from the pedestal of her love when she died…a third time…

"People flocked to the clinic in droves." Justinia continued. "Brothers and sisters took vows and apprenticed themselves to Giselle's tutelage. The reputation of the clinic spread throughout the city and I basked in the praise. The Empress herself deigned to visit, and declared it to be a marvelous work of Charity. Of course, on that day, I made certain that Giselle was not present. The empress did not need to see that we allowed a half-elf such a place, even in the house of charity and good works." Justinia's lips trembled. "That, however, is beside my point. Of course, there were whispers of discontent, of anger at Giselle's forwardness, her unharnessed tongue, her lack of servitude towards her fully human 'betters'. For a time, I quieted the voices of discontent. Until, of course, Giselle believed it her right to speak so to _me_. She countermanded my orders, many times. She made a habit of leaving the clinic to aid the alienage elves in Val Royeaux, which stoked the ire of my foolish heart. Thinking that it would tame her roguish spirit, I apprenticed the son of a duke to her, but she treated him as she would any other, making my position more tenuous. But the final straw of her insouciance came when she refused to teach the duke's son any longer, and took on a new apprentice." Justinia looked toward the stone table, reserved for the body of the Divine, where a woman of common birth now lay in her final rest. "Her apprentice was none other than Kathyra."


	94. Chapter 94

**Cassandra**

My ears burned with the fire of rendered confession. I knew this fire; had felt it in my chest the night Justinia set before me and bared Beatrix's layers of lies, manipulation, and cruelty. Those flames had burned the zealot from my spirit and humbled my heart in the sight of the Maker and my fellow man. I stood proud now, not because of pride, but because I knew now what it was to be broken and redeemed.

The woman who stood before me I held as a paragon of wisdom. A woman to whom life had been kind, to grant a fathomless, deep spirit of love and a mind cunning and sharp as my blade. In my heart, I loved her as I had never loved Beatrix. Her words now tore down the statue of her built within my mind. The paragon crumbled, layer by layer and shadow by shadow ripped asunder and laid bare. I did not understand why the Divine now insisted on ripped herself to shreds before us, those who were meant to trust her, take her word as holy writ and will, and enact her commands upon the face of Thedas.

"My anger burned against Giselle." Justinia continued her tale. "I began to seek a way to end her influence over the clinic. There were man well trained in her arts, and I felt her presence was no longer necessary. In the end, I decided that I would use her mercy and her love of the elves to spell her demise. When a plague ripped through the alienage, I forbade her to go, knowing that she would defy me. What I did not know was that a human would also defy me. Against my explicit orders, Kathyra abandoned the clinic and went to the alienage to aid Giselle. When they returned, I waited."

 _I do not want to hear this,_ my spirit rebelled. _I neither want nor need this knowledge. Justinia is a kind woman, a_ _ **good**_ _woman. She rescued Leliana from the dungeons of Val Royeaux. She healed her spirit and her heart and sent her to Ferelden for safety. Without that action, the Fifth Blight might never have known its hero and its ender. This woman of whom Justinia speaks…I do not know her, nor do I desire to._

My lips pursed into a thin line of disgust as I attempted to unhear the words Justinia spoke with the same fervor and passion that struck her tones when she spoke to the people of Thedas and ministered to their souls. My better heart told me to listen, that this story had purpose, but I did not wish to bear this burden. I did not wish to see my savior fall from grace, even if that descent happened long ago. In my mind, in my hearing, this tale was fresh…a wound being carved deeper into my skin with each passing moment.

"I did not have to wait long." Justinia pressed forward. "The plague took Giselle, and I sat and did nothing, content to let her die. It was only when Kathyra discovered that the 'plague' was not, indeed, a sickness, but a poison spread with purpose and by magic, that I acted. I did not care if Giselle lost her life, but I could _not_ let the hand of magic touch the good works of the Chantry and tarnish my reputation. The mage was found, the plague ended, and Giselle survived. I will never know if she herself saw through the face I portrayed to the world, but Kathyra _did_." Justinia looked towards the physician's body and the weight of grief pressed down on her voice, deepening it with sorrow. "I acted on my fear and on my anger. I used my considerable power and ordered the city guard to arrest both Kathyra and Giselle. I allowed them to feel that fear, before removing Giselle and informing her, in no uncertain terms, that her life _belonged_ to me, and that whatever manner of life she even _thought_ about having with Kathyra would be impossible, for I would make it so. In fact, I intended to arrange for Kathyra to be tried for some crime and executed…or at least out of my life. Trouble." Justinia shook her head, but true affection colored her words. "She was naught but trouble. At that time, I was too ignorant to realize that, without troubles, our souls can never reach their full measure."

I nodded my agreement with her, but stopped when I saw the pain, already manifest in Leliana's blue eyes, deepen to an anguish so vicious I did not know how she withstood it. The pain of my own heart had been immense when I thought one lover dead. Leliana had lost the last three that she loved. How she remained standing bewildered me. I did not know how she bore listening to Justinia's tale of how the Divine herself made Kathyra suffer.

 _Kathyra asked me to care for Leliana's heart…how could she ask such a thing of me, when she knows how ill-suited I am to such a task?_

"I did not know who Kathyra was, or who she had been." Justinia spoke. "I underestimated her and, today, I am glad of it. Then, I was not. After I had her incarcerated, I went to my chambers to rest…to gloat in my own vainglory. My chamber door was always locked, for behind it, one would be able to see all of my failures to keep my vows. I allowed myself opulence. Beautiful tapestries threaded with precious metals, depicting the greatness of Andraste. My mattress and pillows were stuffed with the finest down, covered with sheets of Rivaini silk. I drank fine Antivan brandy from a tumbler of Orlesian crystal. I basked in my accomplishments and thought with pleasure and joy of the accomplishments of the day…I did not even hear her approach."

Justinia quieted. She walked to the stone table and gazed down on Kathyra's visage with true tenderness and affection. I wondered if, in the life after, Kathyra might be watching, might be listening, might see the remorse on the face of the woman she had never trusted.

 _Can you see who we are in death…can you see that, somehow, you have changed the world, Kathyra? I grieve this more than I have grieved any other loss. I might have known you, but, in my arrogance, I refused._

"She tied me to my chair." Justinia recalled, her eyes falling back into years gone by. "And stuffed my mouth with my own robes. I sat there, helpless, as she confessed to being a woman with blood on her hands. Then…then, Kathyra did what none other dared to do. She condemned me. She spoke of the woman behind the mask and laid bare the darkness in my soul. Then, she found the deed given me by the nobleman…the sole evidence I had that I possessed Giselle. Kathyra set it aflame, and used it as a torch to burn the room around me. I lived, but I did not learn. I despised Kathyra _and_ Giselle, even when they came to tend to my wounds, even when Giselle offered me forgiveness for crimes…crimes for which I never apologized."

I wondered if Leliana's reaction mirrored my own, for I felt shocked to my very core. I knew the physician to be daring, even bold...but to attack the Revered Mother of the Chantry was a crime punishable by death. That Kathyra did it in defense of a half-elf, no matter that she loved Giselle…I could not fathom it. Leliana, however, could. She knew the manner of connection between Giselle and Kathyra. She knew the glory of that manner of tortured, tried love. She understood Kathyra's actions.

 _I have gone much farther than that in my defense of Beatrix, and acting as the right hand of Divine Justinia. But…but never would I have attacked a man or woman of the cloth. It is not for me to judge them. They answer to the Maker. I knew Kathyra to be filled with courage…never did I know that her spirit possessed a brazen light that would defy corruption…even when the corruption came dressed as someone with power enough to move worlds._

Justinia breathed deep, then exhaled with a gusty sigh, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her confession and her guilt.

"I lay low for a while," Most Holy murmured, "but I did not learn. I did not truly _learn_ until the night when Kathyra, who returned to the Chantry clinic after Giselle's murder, allowed me to borrow her knife. The knife, Leliana," Her eyes fell to the woman, "that aided in your escape from the dungeon of Val Royeaux. Kathyra ministered to your grievous wounds. She saved your life. But, that night, she came to my offices and resigned from the Chantry to take Beatrix's offer and join the Order of Seekers. I asked Kathyra the most important question of my life that night." The abject _suffering_ in Justinia's eyes deepened. "I asked her if I would ever know forgiveness for my sins. She said…she said that she would never forgive me and that, should I wish to be worthy of Leliana's forgiveness, that I must humble myself."

Justinia stepped away from Kathyra's body and reached out to Leliana. My counterpart took the Divine's offered hand, and I watched tears fall from both of their eyes. This moment, this memory, held great pain for the both of them and I felt the outsider intruding on a sacred sharing.

"She ordered me to bind your wounds with my own hands." Justinia spoke barely above a whisper. "To bear witness to and attempt to mend the consequences of my selfishness. I learned, Leliana," Justinia's voice cracked, a fissure through her spirit and my own, "I learned through your suffering and pain. I swore to do good, _true_ good in this world so that an innocent would never again endure what you endured. I learned not to let these shame me…but define me."

Justinia removed her hand from Leliana's and pushed up the sleeve of her robes. I gasped in shock when I saw the aged, but evident, scarring along her arm. The skin was puckered and twisted, with sworls of harsh ridging wrapped along it. I knew the manner of such scars…they must have been from the night Kathyra set Most Holy's room aflame.

"I tell you this for a reason." Justinia's voice strengthened as she spoke. "I grieve Kathyra's death, for, even though we have not shared a word with each other since that fateful night, she, a bard, a rogue, a murderer…became my salvation. When I ascended and became Divine, I could always hear her voice in my head, decrying me, doubting me. That Voice is a necessity when one wields power…never forget that, my Hands. Always keep close to you one who doubts, so that faith does not become zealotry and belief become enslavement. Every step I have taken, every dispute I have adjudicated, I kept the voice of Kathyra ever within my mind, doubting me. Refusing to forgive me. And with that as my safeguard, I have let go of many chances to abuse my power. With that, I have tempered justice with mercy. The woman with that voice is now gone, and I feel her loss keenly. She will be honored, not just as a Seeker, not just as a skilled physician, but as my personal savior."

"Thank you, Most Holy." Leliana's voice did not shake, did not quaver, even though tears poured from her eyes. "Thank you for honoring her. Still…I do not understand the purpose of this confession. Why have you told us this?"

Justinia looked to me and I nodded, for I bore the same questions within my own mind and spirit. I did not understand the confession, though I would take the wisdom in Most Holy's words to heart. To keep close those who doubted me and heed their cautioning rather than being frustrated by it and storming ahead. Once, I had been a woman who acted in such a manner and…and because of it, I lost a friend who might have become a sister to me.

"Because times are changing."

Justinia walked to a table in the room that held the equipment used by the embalmers to prepare the body for burial. On it sat a locked wooden box. Justinia retrieved the key from around her neck, unlocked it, and lifted from it a heavy tome. The book itself was locked, and Leliana and I looked to one another in confusion.

"A fire will soon sweep Thedas, my Hands." Justinia spoke. "It is a necessary flame, however. What has been perverted must be purged. This purge, however, must be controlled by the hands of those in possession of _good_ hearts. I can think of none better than the two of you. This book," She lifted it, "is a writ, granting power to my Left and Right Hands to begin an Inquisition."

All the breath fled out of my lungs. I remembered myself as a young Seeker, reading the histories of Thedas; the origin of my order in the first Inquisition. Such a thing had not happened in Ages and the…the thought of another being necessary terrified me.

 _This is not a thing that should happen. I do not wish to have this power in my hands._

"This is why I tell you of my greatest sin." Justinia revealed. "So that, should the moment arise, should the Inquisition be begun, you will know that even those entitled 'Most Holy' are fallible, flawed human beings. Cherish the scars upon your body; let them remind you of what suffering has taught you. Be merciful, be kind, be courageous enough that you listen to the Voice of doubt without anger intruding. But, before all of that comes, let us grieve as one."

Justinia returned to Kathyra's side and tucked back an ash-blonde curl. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the physician's cold forehead. Her lips moved and her words took my heart by storm.

"I pray, Kathyra," She whispered, "that I shall someday earn your forgiveness as you have earned your rest. And, if you can find this mercy within your heart, tell Giselle…tell Giselle that I am _sorry_."

A wretched sob echoed across the marble floors. I turned to Leliana, saw her eyes wide with grief, her lips parted as she breathed in shallow, jerking inhales. Her knees buckled and I ran to her, knelt down, and let her collapse against me. I had made a promise, a promise to the woman who saved Justinia…and Justinia had saved me. I owed it to Kathyra to care for the woman she loved. To be a friend and sister.

 _I will do my best, Kathyra,_ I promised her. _Forgive me if I am not up to the task._


	95. Chapter 95

**Leliana**

"Are you certain that you wish to be alone?" Cassandra asked, her warm eyes full of concern.

"Grateful as I am for your assistance, yes." No strength lay in my words, but Cassandra needed the words alone. They did not require conviction.

 _Allow me to shed my tears in silence, so that none may see them. There is so much to which I must reconcile myself. I cannot do so in the company of another, no matter their meaning to me._

"If you require anything…even if it is naught but a companion to sit in silence, I am…I am here." Cassandra offered. "You have endured a great deal in such a short time. Regardless of the strength within one's own heart, such losses are not easily borne."

"No, they are not." In that moment, I longed for Salem.

I longed for the woman who knew when words were unnecessary, who would sit with me in perfect quiet, hold me in her arms, driving away my demons with her quiet, powerful presence. I, however, had driven that from the world. With my own blade, with my own hand, I took from the world what it and I needed most of all.

 _Shoulders broad enough to bear the entire burden of Thedas. I killed her…I killed her again._

"Would you like something to eat?" Cassandra asked, but the question did not anger me, for her hand was on the door. She prepared to leave. "I can bring you…"

"No." I shook my head. "I have no appetite."

Cassandra nodded, opened the door, and left me alone. I rose from my seat and locked the door. I did not want to be disturbed. I did not wish to have to see another or speak to another person. Winter lived inside my chest, my heart beat like a frozen thing, devoid of feeling, purpose, and fire. I closed my eyes and fell backwards into the memories of my life.

 _All of the losses. All of the pain. Maker's breath…all of the blood._

I allowed the memories to whelm over me, content to drown in the beauty and the suffering that comprised my life. Volcanic, acidic tears streaked down my face, burning me. I felt heavy, as though my blood had turned to gold. My heart fought to beat, limping inside my chest. I wondered how simple it would be to cease to breathe. To lie down and not wake when the morning came.

 _Too much has been taken from me. Too long I have striven in this world and continued to suffer. I could not protect Kestrel. I watched Kathyra die. I killed Salem with my own hands. It is time to fade into the shadows in which I was forged. I can live as the Left Hand. Close off my heart to all the pain and beauty in the world. I still have purpose. With purpose, do I truly require anything else? Anything transient and temporary as love? I do not think…_

"It does no good to meditate on destinies foregone." A voice stirred me from bleak reverie.

I looked up, knowing the voice all too well…the whisper of the trees and the quaking of the earth. A slender woman with silver eyes smelted out of centuries gazed at me. Her floor-length, indigo hair drifted in a localized wind that never touched anything but her. I did not expect this, but I knew already, with the emotions pouring through the sieve of my fissured heart, what I would say.

"Does it not?" I wondered, doubting, for the first time, the words of the Maker. "How is it that you can say such a thing?"

"Because I am one who charts destinies and writes paths of fate into the stars." She answered, calm, sedate, sure of everything in the world. So certain…certain as I would never be again.

"Do you?" I questioned the Maker herself for the first time in my life. "Tell me, do you never sit on your throne of the galaxies and wonder what it might have been like had Andraste not failed?"

Elegant, sculpted brows rose at my inquiry, and the silver eyes flashed and crackled with lightning. "It is different." She claimed. "There is a great and grave difference in the realms of divine and mortal. I could not have forced Andraste to love me in a way that might have saved her, just as I could not command you to be my voice on Thedas if you did not wish to be so. Gods set in place the fates of mortals, but we can control naught but the circumstances. We have no sway upon what that mortal chooses, save by direct, divine intervention."

I weigh and measure her words, carefully constructing my next question…preparing for the breaking of my heart. It hurt to be filled with such doubt. It hurt that, this time, in the presence of the god I loved and served, I felt nothing but disillusioned, cheated, and deceived.

"You are telling me, my Maker, that you might have changed the course of my life? You are telling me that, had you chosen to divinely intervene, you might have removed the taint from Salem's blood and allowed her to live?"

The question hung in the air. In the silence, it took on a life of its own, spreading and expanding into a micro-thunderstorm that threatened to break.

"Yes." The Maker admitted, and the winter in my heart collapsed inward, falling into the core of the earth, burning alive with lava and fury.

"You could have done so, and refused?" I got to my feet, wanting to be at my strongest when I faced the answers to questions I never believed I would have to ask. "You could have spared me the grief and the pain and the suffering of her loss? Did you never think of all of the things Salem might have done, had she lived? How many lives she would have saved!? Did you weigh nothing against what her death _cost_ , not just to me, but to all _Thedas!?_ "

"Salem Cousland chose to partake of the taint."

"Or be run through!" I shouted now, not caring who would hear. "It was the taint or immediate death! How can you even consider such a thing a _choice_!?"

"Did not one of her fellows that night choose death?" The Maker questioned me in return, infuriating me.

"How can you say you craft destiny?" I asked. "You are so flippant in its construction and offer me nothing but platitudes when I question the design…is that the right of divinity? To wield mortals like swords, not caring when they are broken?"

"Why should it matter?" The Maker inquired. "Why should it matter that I allowed fate to run its course? All mortal roads lead to one destination, and that is the cessation of life."

"Be that as it may, does that give you the right to refuse me answers?" I demanded. "To throw at me questions whose answers are as distant and mysterious as the stars?"

"No. But you have not asked the pertinent question, have you?" Another question, another burst of lava through my veins. "Even now your lips hesitate, which begs the question, Leliana. Do you truly want the answer?"

I breathed deep in attempt to calm myself, to allow my mind to reach reason and rationale, and ask the proper question instead of letting the god who chose me to lead me astray. As Justinia told to me and Cassandra, faith in its mere presence demanded doubt to be ratified. I did not wish to doubt, but I could no longer blindly follow, enduring horrific visions of the future and always being one step behind, one moment away from changing the outcome. How could I spread a prophecy and speak of a god of love when…when I did not have this answer?

"Tell me why?" I ordered. " _Why_ did my fate demand Salem's death?"

"Would you stand where you are standing and have accomplished what you have accomplished if she still lived?" The Maker asked. "You burned the summons of Thedas' Divine in order to remain beside Salem. Would she have let you go, Leliana? Would she have let you fulfill the calling that you answered after her passing, or would she have enslaved your heart and kept you chained to the land that ruled _her_?"

"If you have truly awoken from your silence, you would know the answer to those questions." I hissed. "Salem gave me all that I desired, and supported me in all things. Had she been alive, Maker, do you think this world would stand on the edge of burning alive? Do you think the slaughter of the Kirkwall Circle would have happened, had Salem been present? Did you not see the deeds I accomplished because I had _her_ strength supporting me? Or did you turn a blind eye? Did you give me our short year together as a gift because you _knew_ she would be taken, and that I would not be so bitter as I would had you simply _killed_ her? Did you fear that I would betray you as Andraste did when she could not divorce herself from fully loving Maferath? Did you let her _die_ in order to wield me without a burden, though her loss _burdened me_ _ **further!?**_ "

"Yes." The Maker replied, a single, simple word that shattered everything within me.

I broke. My knees buckled and I crashed to the stone floor, incognizant of the pain, disregarding the bruises. My ribs snapped within my chest and punctured my heart. I felt every scar in my soul and psyche tear open and bleed afresh. I had known Marjolaine's betrayal, and survived it. I did not know if I could survive this, for the pain was that of a thousand suns scraping through my muscles and bones with dull, rusted razors.

My lips parted and I _howled_ in the grasp of an anguish of spirit so deep that it bore no name or descriptor. My lungs charred to ash and I breathed in the fires of Andraste's pyre. I had sworn my life to a jealous god…a god who craved the love of a mortal, but could not bear that mortal love tethering itself to another soul. Thus, Andraste burned because neither the Maker nor Maferath could own her fully. Thus, Salem died, so that I would follow in my faith and allow myself to be destroyed without considering the true source of my destruction.

"My child." I felt a strong, delicate hand brush against my cheek. "My child, I know that you grieve, but it is grief without purpose. I can heal you, Leliana. I can heal you from this pain."

"You are its cause and creator!" I shrieked. "You are the demon that besets me at night. You allow me enough of mortal love to survive and subsist, but when another day beckons and another need arises you _take_ from me. You _steal_ from me and watch me splintered and sundered and _tortured!_ You claim to be a god love, but _all_ that you have loved has _perished!_ "

"You claim so much sight, but you blunder in the dark of your blindness." The Maker's voice attempted to soothe me, but I would not be calmed. I would not be condescended to. I would not let a being who believed that _deception_ was _merited_ in order to achieve their end give me any further order.

"Then blind me." I growled, getting to my feet and facing the fathomless silver eyes of the god who claimed to love me. "Blind me and deafen me, for I will listen no more. I will heed nothing any longer. Give me no more visions, chart my path no longer. You have deceived me, betrayed me, and broken me too many times. I will not speak for a jealous god."

"Leliana…"

"No." I shook my head. "My faith is shattered, my belief undone. Leave me and do not speak to me again."

"Leliana…"

I reached out and laced my hand around the throat of a god, squeezing with all my might, knowing that it would avail nothing, but that did not matter.

"I am _not_ Andraste." I snarled. "Nor ever _would_ I have been. I am _not_ your prophet, Maker. I am _not_ your child."

"You do not know what it is you do." The Maker spoke, but I did not care. I would not listen again. I would not heed again. I would not be a _slave_ , _**ever**_ _ **again**_.

"I. Am. _Not._ Your. _Lover_."

I heard the wild winds of an angry spring and, when I looked up, I was alone. The Maker no longer stood in the room with me. I held the answers to my questions. I felt the blood of my lovers still hot and wet upon my hands. I felt nothing now in my heart. The last vestige of love departed with the Maker's coarse, harsh, despotic words.

 _I am alone in this world, now. But still I must breathe, for that is what life demands. I made a promise to my wife…that I would live my life to its fullest and best. I cannot now end that life, for I am a Cousland and…and my word is my bond. Therefore, this final prayer I pray._

 _Salem, if you can hear me, from somewhere in that vast beyond, please lend me your strength. Lend me strength, for my faith has perished and I've nothing left to carry me through a world soon to burn. Please, find it in your heart to forgive the woman who murdered you. Forgive me, for, without that, I shall never know a day of peace again._

I fell onto the small bed and curled into a ball of pain, misery, and betrayal. I hugged the down pillow tight against my body, needing comfort, security, and truth. And, for all that I had lost, for all that I had endured, for all that I had suffered…I wept.


	96. Chapter 96

_**Author's Note:**_ _Oh wow, this is it! The final chapter of "Sick World that Damns its Saviors." First off, I want to thank everyone who read, followed, favorited, and especially those who shared their thoughts via review or private message. I had a great deal of fun writing this story, and am very glad that all of you were okay with seeing this story play out through the eyes of several original characters. As an author, that means a lot. I'm quite pleased to have completed this work, and I sincerely hope that all of you have enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed creating it. I don't know what project I'm going to tackle next, but I probably will take some time off to recharge my muse's batteries. She gets cranky if I don't. In any case, thank you for sharing your thoughts and your time on this small contribution to the boards._

 _Bright Blessings,_

 _~Raven Sinead_

* * *

 **Salem**

The fire sparked and sputtered as it tried to burn the damp wood. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the staff I carved to help me walk. I used it to stir the embers and kindle the flame higher, helping it to conquer the moisture in the wood. I shivered in my drenched, ripped clothing. The downpour had been sudden, taking me by surprise and forcing me to seek shelter.

I leaned back against a tree and closed my eyes. I ignored the pain in my chest; focused on the struggle of inhaling. All I needed to do was keep breathing. That was my focus, my promise, my word and my bond. I was granted choice, and I chose to live. Nothing would stop me from doing that, not even the hole in my side that still seeped blood, not even the blood that flecked my lips when I coughed, not even the weakness in my body that made me walk less and less each day; not even the sleep which was more and more difficult to wake from.

 _Nothing will keep me from life. Neither wound nor god nor king nor monster is able to stop me. I will live, no matter the pain. No matter the struggle._

I pulled my swords onto my lap, their hilts in easy reach should I need to draw them and defend myself. In the firelight, the nightingale inscribed on the hilt seemed to come alive. I watched as it flapped its wings and took to the sky, powerful, strong, with plain plumage and an unassuming size. Still…the sweetest music came forth from its heart and soothed the weary, aching soul.

 _Do you have someone to sing for you, dear heart?_ I wondered in the quiet. _Do you get the joy of listening to the melody of another's voice, letting it slay you with beauty? I kept your song in my heart, Leliana. Always, I listen and hear new things with each new day._

I shifted against the tree, preparing to close my eyes and sleep. The movement made the tear in my side come alive and voice its displeasure. I gasped and reached for the wound, covering it with my hand, applying pressure until my breathing evened and the pain eased. Such things made it even more difficult to inhale. That did not matter, however. Eventually, the road I followed would lead to civilization. I would be able to find a competent healer, rest, and recover. Until then, I would struggle and suffer through.

 _I have been betrayed. I have watched my family and my lover torn from my side. I have walked out of heaven. Walking a great distance with an injury equates to nothing in the face of all I have done. I will survive this as I survived all else._

"You look quite unwell." I lifted my eyes to the voice that spoke, for I knew it all too well.

"Have I not appeared this way most of the time?" I questioned, tossing a bleak smile towards the small, lithe form of Thedas' Maker. "If you watched me from above during the Blight, you would have seen me brought low, more often than not."

The Maker considered my words, then nodded, affirming their accuracy. "You show no surprise at my being here." She said, conversational, genial…it did not set me at ease. "I wonder, what are the reasons for that?"

"I am accustomed to the gods interfering in the simple life I attempt to lead." I replied, wincing as I shifted against the tree. "And, in the same vein as those appearances, I assume that you have come to me because you desire something that you cannot provide for yourself."

The god's supple, cupid's bow lips turned downward at the corners, the expression as eloquent as a waterfall. Something was gravely wrong. I was not the one the Maker sought out. I was not the one who had pulled her from her silence and brought her back into the world. I did not know why she stood before me, but I was determined to find out, if only to make certain that such a thing never happened again. No longer would I serve at the whims of the gods. I possessed the freedom to choose, and I would choose a life free from the vagaries and interference of the divine.

"How you can know the mind of a god baffles me, Salem Cousland." She murmured, but her words did not make me take pride in myself. Instead, they chilled me to the bone. I did not wish to know the minds of gods. I wished to be left alone. "I have come for your help, to ask a favor, one for which you will be rewarded. If you agree to help me, I shall heal the injury done to your body. You need only say yes, and you will then be freed from the pain."

I chuckled under my breath, a low, dark sound. "You know the minds of soldiers on the battlefield, Maker. Their sole thought when buried inside their physical pain. They are often willing to do anything that is asked in order to have that agony ended. Alas, you will find me much more difficult to bargain with. I am accustomed to pain. Why have you come to me, and what is it that you desire me to do?"

In the distance, I heard the rumble of slow, growling thunder. I watched the Maker's silver eyes lose their sheen and become the dull grey of approaching storm clouds. Silent tears slipped down her face, rivers cutting a path through a bright, new world. I could see the pain stamped clearly on her features and I knew, in that moment, that the gods felt as mortals felt. That they, too, were servants to the horrific blessing of emotion. That, for all their power, they also knew pain.

"I have lost my prophet." The Maker's words held the fragments of old ghosts; they drifted from her lips in wisps of fog. "I have lost the one I held dear above all else. My heart aches, I bleed from within, but I am no longer welcome in the place where she dwells. She has forsaken me, forsaken faith, and I do not understand why."

 _Damn it! Heavens, hells, and angels! I knew,_ anger pierced my soul on the tip of a spear, _I_ _ **knew**_ _that seeing me again would be the catalyst…that she would lose her faith…that Flemeth would be proven right and use her leverage against the Maker to continue the battles of their age-old, fucking_ _ **Game**_.

"No?" I asked, attempting to keep my tone light. "What precipitated this loss?"

"She asked me if I allowed you to die, all those years ago." The Maker informed me, pacing forth and back before my fire, drawing the flames closer to her with every step, power calling to power. "I would never lie to her, Salem Cousland. I told her that I did, and that I could have taken the taint in your blood from you and allowed you a life together."

"Oh." I frowned, deep, wishing that I could be at Leliana's side in this very moment, holding her against the maelstrom of tears that I knew she wept, protecting her from the vicious onslaught of a riven faith.

"That is all you have to say?" The Maker's upper lip curled into a snarl, baring the fangs of a dragon. "Will you not shout at me? Not rail against me? Not scream at me and claim that I have lied to you and betrayed you?"

"You are not mortal." I shook my head. "I am certain that her anger towards you is as incomprehensible as your divinity is to us. Leliana, however, loved you, Maker. She endured the pain of her visions because it meant she had been chosen. She endured the trials of the Blight and the trials thereafter because of her faith in you and her love of me. You, in essence, took that love from her when you allowed the taint to take its course."

The human's god narrowed her eyes. "How is it that I understand your words, but not hers?"

"Because you do not love me." I answered and her pacing ceased, as if I had caught her without her guard. "My love of Leliana moved you, but you never loved me as you did her. And when love does not blind the eyes or close the ears, it is easier by far to see and hear. There is one thing I do not understand, Maker."

"Yes?" She asked, mulling over my words.

"You allowed me to die, but you allowed Leliana to love Kathyra." I said. "Why would you permit such a thing?"

"Because their love did not scorch the stars themselves." The god replied, her eyes going distant as she stared into worlds beyond the night sky. "Because Leliana would never have forsaken me for her love of Kathyra. She would have done so for…for her love of you."

I scoffed, a harsh bray of breath that made my side burn. "No wonder the humans worship you." I muttered. "You are a selfish god, a jealous god. Perhaps it was better when you remained silent to the cries of your people. You gave them the benefit of not knowing the monstrosity of your love."

"You have seen me face to face, yet you speak the words of a heretic." The Maker's tones held heat, the burning sand of the Hissing Wastes. "But that does not matter. What matters is whether or not you will aid me, Salem Cousland. Let me heal you, and return to Leliana. Help her love again. Help her see her way clear to me again. I am bound by the gifts given you by my own law…you have your will, your right to do as you please. Leliana has forbidden me from coming to her, but there is no other, Salem. There is no other who can speak my words and be heeded. I ask you now, a god upon her knees before a mortal, to help me."

"I would laugh were I physically capable." I smiled instead, rankling the god before me even more. "But your love, divine or no, is a set of shackles and chains. Leliana knows this now, as do I. I will never again see her bound to anything, man, land, or god. I will not help you enslave her, especially considering that she has another god to thank for my life renewed. I could not help you, even if I desired to." I removed my hand from the wound in my body. "This wound was dealt me by Leliana's blade, held in her own hand. She wants nothing to do with me any longer."

"This does not stop you from loving her." The Maker stated the obvious truth. "Neither shall her rejection of me sway me from loving her and wishing her to be my prophet, to spread the message of a loving god who is no longer silent. Help me, Salem Cousland, and I will ease her mind as to your living again. I will take from her the pain of your being gone, re-write her memories. She will suffer no more."

The words rang through my ears like the strike of steel on steel. I despised them and wanted nothing to do with them, and nothing to do with the god before me.

"You cannot take a mortal's memory from them, no matter what kindness it may be, what pain it might alleviate." I declared. "What are we without pain but ignorant? What are we without suffering but self-righteous? What are we without loss but greedy? No, Maker, this is not the way, and I will not agree to it."

"I thought you did not wish for her to suffer." The Maker chided me. "I thought your greatest desire was to see her unscarred."

"It is still my greatest desire." I whispered. "But I am not so imbecilic as to think that I can fulfill that desire. I will do all I can for her to ease it, but I could never bear the full measure of her pain."

"I could." The Maker seethed, and I felt as though I stood before a mortal, jealous lover. "If she gave me that right, I could do so at once."

"Once, you were a god of mercy and truth and kindness." I reminded her as I rose to my feet on shaking legs. "I believed in you and trusted you. I would have allowed Leliana to follow you without reservation, and I would have joined her in her service. I am no Maferath, filled with petty and pathetic jealousy. No, Maker. It is you who bears that man's pathetic spirit. You are a petulant child looking to settle the blame for your losses on other shoulders, while beseeching those same others to aid you. You've no one to blame but yourself and I will be _damned_ if I trust any other who call themselves a god. As far as I am concerned, you are crafted by your base desires. Your selfishness, jealousy, and anger are nothing more than mortal. I do not fear your wrath or your judgment and, if you _dare_ lay vengeful hands on me or the woman I love, I will not hesitate to _slay_ another god."

Lighting crackled in the Maker's hands, and cascaded across her body. The grass beneath her feet blackened and charred. The air smelled of an oncoming storm, and I knew that I saw the muted rage of a god. It did not matter. I would not let Leliana suffer another jealous lover, one who would rule her and become angry when she exerted her own will.

"Large words, for a woman who is so very wounded." The Maker mocked me. "In this isolation, with that injury, you will not survive the week. No one will mourn your death, will they? No. But the world might suffer from my silence. If I turn my back on them again…"

"And prove all of my words?" I asked, challenging her. "Two humans turn from you and you would damn the whole world because of it? Perhaps Andraste should not have set her Exalted March upon Tevinter, but upon the Golden City. It is no wonder she could not give you her whole heart, if you would turn your back on all mankind in order to punish one."

"Do not speak of Andraste, heretic! You have no right to say her name, no right to fling her history at me in accusation!" The Maker shouted, and the leaves trembled from the force of it; the ground beneath me quivered. "But…you are right. I should not let all suffer for the sins of two. Your day of reckoning will soon come, Salem Cousland." She warned me, pointing at me as though she cast a curse. "The heavens are in turmoil as is the earth. Even now, the sparks are kindling. Thedas will be set afire and _when_ you call out to me, I will _not_ salvage you _or_ Leliana from the flames."

"That is as it should be." I nodded, acknowledging her words, her final judgment upon me. "But there is one thing you are forgetting, Maker."

"Oh?" Her eyes narrowed again, her lips wore a smirk.

I smiled in return, in challenge, in answer, in peace, and in love.

"I don't burn."


End file.
